Won't Be Pushed Aside
by JassyBaby
Summary: Dean Ambrose has never been able to face the feelings he has for best friend, Roman Reigns. Not only can he no longer take the yearning he feels, but now he'll have to contend with a rival for Roman's affection-a rival who will push him to do whatever it takes to keep Roman to himself. Rated M for language, adult themes, and explicit sexual content in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first wrestling fic! Requested by my sister, but I thought I'd share it on FF. I'm not really sure _what_ category this story falls into. There's a little bit of angst, a little bit of hurt/comfort, some humor, some fluff, some drama, some everything! :) It's essentially following Dean as he tries to deal with his feelings for Roman and a rival for Roman's affection. Enjoy! **

**Chapter 1**

Dean Ambrose shook his head in disbelief.

He swigged down his beer and tried not to barf at the sight of the busty blonde bimbo grinding all up on his best friend.

Roman was uncomfortable, and rightfully so. The chick was all hands, mouth, and ass—one hundred and forty pounds of voluptuous curves just shoved into his face like a well-oiled slab of meat. The stripper was desperate to get the Samoan wrestler into a private room. Dean couldn't say he blamed her. His slightly blurry gaze scanned over the hard muscles packed tight beneath dark tan skin. Long, black hair was pulled back from a chiseled face, covered with a well-trimmed beard. And those tribal tattoos... They peeked from beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt like the icing on top of a delicious fucking cake.

Roman's eyes met Dean's from across the darkened lounge. Dean sank into the leather settee. Roman gave him a wry smile as he warded another round of try-to-grab-the-crotch. Dean fought off the urge to grab the guy and get the hell out of dodge.

The titty bar hadn't even been their idea. Nah, Seth Rollins—the third wheel of their triumvirate had suggested hitting up a bar to unwind after a particularly grueling show. Now Dean was all for chilling at bars and having a couple beers with his brothers.

Just _sans_ strippers.

Naked girls clinging and groping him while he was trying to relax wasn't his thing. Gave him performance anxiety, actually. It wasn't Roman's thing either, if the pained look on his mug was any indication.

Dean mock saluted his pal with a raised bottle. A chuckle escaped him as Roman threw a discreet middle finger his way.

He forced himself to turn away from them, instead dully glancing around the dark, but neon lit room. It probably looked like hell with the lights on, but during regular hours, the dancing colors, haze of smoke, and naked girls writhing on poles added a sexually-charged ambiance that made the club so popular.

It just wasn't the charge getting Dean off. Not tonight, nor any night, for that matter.

The only living soul who even stirred up some semblance of desire in him was currently being molested not ten feet away from him by a chick resembling a used-up Playboy model.

Dean smiled at that thought. In the light of day, Roman wouldn't even think twice about that girl.

"Why don't you go talk to her, man? I'm sure she'd take on the both of you at once."

Dean nearly jumped as Seth plunked down beside him. He ran a hand through his wonky blond and brown locks, a winsome smile on his face. Dean glanced back in Roman's direction. The guy had managed to ply the woman with tequila. Roman said something to her before they took a shot together. At least her hands weren't glued to him.

Dean tried to hide how relieved he was at _that._ "Nah, I'm not really feeling it tonight."

"You weren't _feeling_ it the other night, either."

"Well, you know, hitting up strip clubs back to back is sorta redundant."

Seth stared a hole in him. "So that's how it is? You're pulling the big words on me now?"

"What? Who?" With a charming smirk, Dean capped off his bottle and stood. He was ready to ditch the place. "Let's get back to the hotel. We've got a long drive to Denver tomorrow."

Seth looked reluctant to leave, especially as his gaze caught the eye of a petite redhead waving him over. "Relax. We've got plenty of time, my friend. You don't wanna ruin the fun for me and Roman, do you?"

Dean glanced to Roman, who locked those steel gray eyes on him. He was practically pleading with Dean to do something to get him out of this impossible situation.

Dean almost felt sorry for him. Almost. "You're right, I don't." Patting his sex-obsessed friend's knee, Dean stood and stretched, moaning at the popping sounds his joints made.

At least the little aches and pains from tonight's match weren't noticeable.

Dean casually approached the duo, doing his best not to frown at the stank of flowery perfume, cigarettes, and sweat from patrons' grubby hands all over the stripper's body. The scent probably clung to Roman, too.

"It's pierced right through, baby," the blonde was saying. "Hurt like hell when I got it, though, but it feels good now. Especially during sex." She leaned in close and whispered with a smile, though Dean was sure any dick within a ten foot radius could hear her.

Dean placed a hand on the chick's shoulder to get her attention. She didn't seem to want to look away from Roman. "'Scuse me, doll. Sorry, but I'm gonna have to steal my partner from you now. We got a long drive tomorrow morning." He was so _not_ sorry.

The blonde pouted as she looked him up and down with intrigue. "That's too bad. Well, where are you boys headed? I have the next two days off. I could bring some girl friends of mine. We could have fun."

Roman abruptly stood, his leg bumping the small table and making it rattle. "Canton," he answered before Dean could.

Dean arched a brow at his friend's blatant lie.

The stripper stared at Roman as if he'd sprouted two heads. "Canton?" She reiterated, though much more slowly. "Is that like in Mexico?"

Dean shook his head with amusement. Dumb broad.

"Ohio," Roman replied.

The smile returned to her heavily made up face. "Ohio! Oh my god, I feel so stupid now. Of course you're not driving all the way to Mexico. It'd take like days or something."

Dean couldn't help the sarcastic smile on his face. He folded his arms across his leather-clad chest. "Wow, how'd you figure that? You must be a walking geographer, girl."

Roman's warning look stopped him from busting into laughter. Barely.

She shook her head at Dean, but her smile remained glued in place. "Hey, don't make fun of me. High school was forever ago."

"But you did graduate right?"

"Dean." Roman appeared at his side, a scowl on his face. "We really need to get going now. For real."

"Why? We're just having a little fun, brother."

"Yeah, too much fun." Roman nudged Dean in the side, directing him to the nearest exit. "And too much fun turns you into an ass, in case you forgot."

"Oh yeah, that's right! Nice meeting you, ma'am." Not really.

She blew them a kiss. "Come see me when you're back in town."

Roman mumbled something Dean didn't catch over the smooth R&B song blasting out the speakers. He fished around his leather jacket pocket for the keys before he found Seth.

Still sitting in the settee, Seth was currently making out with the redhead chick, all hands on her ass and tongue down her throat. Dean rolled his eyes. His friend was a fucking playboy. "Yo, Seth, we're leaving."

Seth pulled away from the girl's lips. "What, now?" His voice was clearly annoyed.

"I'm tired, man. You can stay if you want, but, just so you know... I got the keys." Dean burst into laughter at his friend's dark curse. He headed for the exit, with Roman pulling up beside him.

They stepped outside into crisp, cool autumn weather. Dean inhaled a deep breath, clogging his sinuses with nature and leaving behind the musk of cheap perfume, cologne, tobacco, and sex. He turned to face Roman as he shrugged into his own leather jacket. "Damn, you smell like her."

Roman frowned. "Like who?"

"C'mon, you know who. Little Miss Ass-and-Tits from the bar, bumping and grinding all over you."

"Lianna?"

Dean's body stiffened as the name left Roman's lips. A sudden tremor shook him. "When did you get her name?" He hadn't meant to sound jealous, but alcohol only ever amplified his emotions, never tempered it.

"You mean, when didn't I get it? Besides the ten second intervals where we'd actually talk, the chick kept saying it to me. Said she wanted me to call her "Li-Li" while we fucked."

Dean didn't know what to make of that. He didn't say anything as he walked over to their Chevy rental. The thought of Roman having sex with that girl did things to him. Things that when acted upon, would leave no doubt about why he was called the Lunatic Fringe.

Dean popped open the passenger side door and climbed inside, burrowing into his jacket as he stared at nothing in particular. Not that he could see anything really with his muddled thoughts. Roman hopped into the driver's side. The least drunk of all of them. The scent clinging to Roman was enough to suffocate Dean. He'd climb into the back to put some distance between them, but he didn't want to offend his best friend. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried real hard to think about what Roman usually smelled like: clean sweat and spicy musk when they were at the gym; fresh soap and Old Spice after showering.

The scents were so strong, Dean could almost bury his nose into it. The guy smelled fucking amazing, usually. He imagined what it would feel like to be surrounded by that scent, mixed with the heat of Roman's big body on top of him. Or under him. Dean wasn't picky. He'd take Roman anyway he could get him.

His cock hardened at that.

"Should we wait for Seth? He seemed to be into it with that chick." Roman's deep voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Wait for him. He'll be out in a sec." _Where was I?_

Roman started the engine, and a moment later, heat blasted from the vents.

Dean arched a brow at him.

Roman met his gaze and shrugged. "You were shivering. Figured you were cold."

"I was shuddering, not shivering."

"What's the difference, wiseass?"

Dean was so not going there. Luckily for him, he didn't have to. A downtrodden Seth had left the club and approached the car. He got in with a dramatic sigh. Dean sniggered. "Wow, Seth, that was fast. Even for a quickie. And here I was all prepared to take a nap."

"Oh, go fuck yourself," Seth growled.

Dean burst into laughter. "You make it too damn easy, Rollins."

"Children, behave." Roman put the car in gear and sped out of the bar's parking lot. Ten minutes later and they were meeting valet in front of their hotel. After Roman tipped the guy, they headed inside the hotel's lobby.

"I'm barricading myself in my room with lots of booze," Seth said. "None of you bastards had better not think of bothering me until morning."

Dean wanted to roll his eyes at that. "Just don't be choking the chicken too hard, okay? She ain't worth it, man."

Seth looked flustered as he glared at him. "I am _not_ doing that."

"Just looking out for you. That's what friends are for, right?" Dean flashed him a brilliant smile guaranteed to annoy the crap out of him.

Like he suspected, Seth huffed off without even so much as a "goodnight." Honestly, the guy could be such a drama queen.

Roman shook his head as he boarded the elevator. "You really gotta stop getting under his skin so much."

Dean grinned at the taller male as he stood beside him in the claustrophobic-inducing steel box. "But it feels so good under there."

Roman chuckled, the sound sending shivers up Dean's spine. "Yeah, well I hate playing mediator. Seth's starting to think you hate him or something."

"Seth knows I love him. In fact, I'll even go to his room tonight and prove it myself. I'll fucking bring my guitar and serenade his ass wearing my favorite suit, even."

"Which suit is that?" Roman grinned.

"The only suit I own. Birthday, of course."

"Yo, you're crazy. Did your mom drop you by accident when you were a baby?"

The elevator finally dinged open and Dean followed his partner to their shared hotel room. Unlike Seth, who felt that being the World Heavyweight champion meant having his own room, Dean had asked Roman to room up with him as usual. He was not gonna pay full price for a room he barely stayed in.

"C'mon, Reigns. You know my mom gets sensitive if you remind her of that."

Roman laughed again, and Dean couldn't help a smile at the sound. He loved making the guy crack up. It took a certain talent that had required lots of patience. And Roman had a nice laugh. Hell, he had a nice everything... nice smile, nice personality, hella nice body...

Dean stopped that train of thought as they entered the shared space.

Their room was a mess of open suitcases, strewn clothes and shoes, beer bottles, and empty pizza boxes. They were practically living out of their bags. Dean had learned a long time ago that it was just more of a hassle when you hung your stuff up all neat and fancy. It was easier this way.

Roman threw off his jacket. "I'm hitting the shower first."

Dean bit his tongue at the image _that_ sent him. He grunted in acknowledgement as he searched the bottles, hoping to find one with some of the good stuff left in it. Bingo! One dark bottle almost half-filled. He didn't care if it was his or Roman's. Dean put the thing to his lips and swallowed. The liquid was warm and a little flat, but he drank it anyway. Kept his mouth busy so he wouldn't make a stupid remark like he was prone to do.

The bathroom door shut behind Roman. A minute later, the shower came on. Dean kicked off his steel-toed boots and climbed into his bed, trying not to imagine what Roman looked like in there, naked and dripping wet.

"Get your shit together, Ambrose." He turned on the TV to drown out the sounds of water beating down on bare flesh. The loud, pleasured moaning snapped him out of his daze. It _would_ land on a porn channel. "Fucking really?" More stroke material was not what he needed right now. Besides, the busty brunette in the torn schoolgirl outfit wasn't doing it for him.

Not like Roman could.

Dean changed the channel. Old school horror movie. Nice. Guaranteed to kill whatever buzz his libido had started.

Dean stared at the plasma, the images barely registering past his muddled up mind. Roman didn't know. How could he? Dean never gave a clue. He was always so careful, making sure his best friend of the last two decades didn't find out he'd wanted to fuck him for years.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean glanced up at the familiar voice. Big. Fucking. Mistake.

Roman was standing there in just a towel, water dripping from his black waves and hard body. His eyes were glued to the screen, his handsome face contorted in disgust. The scent of soap and Old Spice was back.

Holy shit.

"What are you watching?"

Dean glanced away from Roman and at the TV. The film was black-and-white, and there was a deformed looking monster eating a shrieking woman alive. Blood gushed from her missing body parts. The special effects were so horrible, it was almost comical. "Um, no idea, actually."

"Fucking gross, man."

"Changing channel now." He picked up the remote and changed the channel.

Porn again. The same brunette was being done doggy style by some older guy who kept calling her a "naughty girl." Dean met his friend's questioning gaze across the room. With a bemused smile, Dean shut off the TV. "Think I'm gonna go take that shower now."

"Yeah, man, you do that."

 **A/N: What did you think? Please review! I like constructive and positive criticism~**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews and encouragements! Hope you enjoy this next chapter.  
**

 **Chapter 2**

Dean limped backstage, a sweaty arm draped around his best friend's shoulder for support. Every step hurt like a son of a bitch. He was sore all over, but nothing could wipe the stupid grin off his face. He and Roman had just beat the hell out of the Wyatt lackeys—Luke Harper and Erick Rowan. Two goons that Seth had tried to sic on them. It'd been straight up brawling, and the fans had gone wild during the entire thing. Dean could still hear their "this is awesome" chant ringing in his ears.

Roman helped him take a seat on one of the large footlockers. His steel gray eyes were filled with concern as he gazed into Dean's face. Dean looked back at him, licking his lips at the intensity of his stare. Jesus, Roman's eyes. They were soulful and intimidating. "I'm good, Ro. Nothing feels broken. Just hurts like hell."

Roman nodded. The relief on his face was palpable. "You sure? You landed on it pretty hard when you went all Air Ambrose."

"Asshole." Dean grinned. He stretched his left leg out, groaning at the sharp pain shooting up the limb. He rolled his ankle. Everything functioned. "I'm good, man. Just need some Bengay, painkillers, and a nice cold beer and I'm easy breezy."

Roman shook his head. "I'm just saying, I'd get it looked at. Just in case."

"I'm just sayin', you worry too much, Ro." One of the things Dean admired about the guy.

Roman folded his thick arms across his muscled chest. "And whose fault is that, hm?"

"That's a tough one. Can I buy a vowel?"

Dean chuckled as Roman's frown stretched out into a grin. He couldn't help himself. Never could really. "You're stupid," Roman said.

"I'm gonna take that as the compliment you meant it to be."

Roman helped Dean to his feet. "Nah, I meant it as an insult."

"Ooh, ouch." Dean let Roman position him at his side with his big body supporting most of Dean's weight. It was about a hundred degrees, and Roman was covered in sweat, but damned if it didn't feel good pressed against him like this. Dean fought the urge to just close his eyes and get lost in the moment. "My room or yours?"

"Mine. God only knows what you'd do if I left you alone."

Dean grinned against him at the thought. They were surrounded by the chaos of wrestlers preparing for matches and staff running around checking gear. But to Dean, they might as well have been alone. All he saw was Roman. All he felt was miles of smooth, hard skin. Inhaled clean sweat and dark spice. Roman's damp hair was even tickling his nose, but Dean didn't give a crap. It was soft and smelled good, and he wanted to grab a fistful and wrap around in it.

A catcall somehow forced itself into his little bubble. He just knew it was directed at him. At them.

"You two look really cozy." The Bella twins were headed in their direction, all smiles as they looked them up and down.

"What's up?" Roman greeted them.

The girls pulled to a stop in front of them. "Our match is next." Nikki gave them a wry smile. "What's up with the PDA? Something going on we don't know about?"

"Aw, jealous, Nikki? Is John not showing you enough affection?" Dean pouted his bottom lip as if he were really worried about the state of Nikki and Cena's relationship. Not that he was. He'd seen enough Total Divas...

Nikki frowned. "Ew. Don't be weird, Dean. My man is totally into PDA, thank you."

"Well, my man is, too." Dean ignored the feminine laughter, instead thinking how nice it would be to say that. Roman Reigns, his man. Sounded nice as hell.

"Dean, are you done?"

Dean met his friend's stern glower, their faces so close they could almost kiss if someone pushed them another inch or two. Damn, he wished the Bellas were mind readers. "I know that look."

"Well, too," Roman replied in a low voice.

Dean nodded then turned a wistful smile in the twins' direction. "Well, Bellas, I gotta go now. It's time for my spanking."

Roman shoved him and Dean nearly stumbled into the twins. But one look at Roman's flustered smile, and he knew his boy wasn't really mad at him. Okay, not really. Maybe. "Don't project your fantasies on me, Ambrose," Roman said.

Dean gave him an incredulous look, like his feelings were _really_ hurt. "So that's how it is? You're last naming me, now?"

"Ugh, you two are like a couple that's been married too long. Let's go, Brie."

As the Bellas walked off, Dean threw his hands up. "Finally someone gets it." He took a step forward, but his damn leg chose that moment to spasm. He grimaced as the muscles sporadically tightened. "Son of a bitch." Before he could fall, however, Roman caught him against his side.

"I gotcha."

Dean couldn't speak past his clenching teeth and the pain racking him. He walked in virtual silence as Roman slowly lead him to his locker room.

Once inside, Roman sat him in a steel chair. He elevated Dean's leg in an opposite chair. "Don't even think about moving," Roman warned.

Dean shrugged. "I'm all yours. Doctor away."

Roman shook his head before rummaging his bag for whatever he was looking for. "Dammit, Dean. You really know how to test someone's patience, don't you?"

"Me? Hell no. I hate tests."

Roman set a tube of Bengay in Dean's lap. "I'll be right back with some ice. Don't move."

Dean grinned. "Is there a reward for sitting still?"

"Yeah. Maybe I won't put my foot up your ass."

"Yeah, you know I love it when you talk dirty to me."

"Hah!" Roman choked out a laugh before he headed for the door and disappeared.

Left alone, Dean grunted as he kicked off his boot. It was hard work ignoring the pain as he rolled up his jeans' leg and slathered the creamy stuff onto his calf and shin. But he would live. Physical pain, he could deal with. By tomorrow, it wouldn't even be on his radar.

It was the other stuff he couldn't handle. Emotional stuff. Talking about his feelings, for one. It'd taken him years just to come to the realization he wanted Roman. Fucking years of endless wondering and trying to convince himself he wasn't in love with his best friend because that was wrong. And now that he'd finally embraced the truth, it was a few years too late. Not that he'd actually have the guts to tell him, but the whole thing would be pointless.

As far as he knew, Roman was into chicks. Not guys.

Dean scrubbed a hand through his five o' clock shadow. He needed a cigarette.

The door opened and Roman stepped inside with an ice pack. He paused at the strong scent of menthol. "You already put some on?"

"Figured I'd help. Besides, you were taking forever."

With a shake of his head, Roman approached and gingerly set the pack onto Dean's leg. "I thought I told you not to move."

"So what? I'm hardheaded. You gonna spank me now?" Taking the ice pack from him, Dean pressed it against the underside of his leg where it hurt the most.

Roman knelt beside him. "What's really going on, Ambrose?"

As Dean stared into his best friend's eyes, his throat tightened up, making it hard to swallow. He found it impossible to look away, and so damn easy to just drown in the mercurial depths of Roman's gaze. The urge to spill it all, to get this ridiculous weight off his chest was powerful. He'd deal with Roman's reaction when they crossed that bridge.

But he wanted to say it. To just get those three pesky words out of the way. Everything else should come easy after that.

Dean licked his dry lips. "Ro."

"What's up?"

"You know I love you, right?" His palms were suddenly sweaty.

Roman nodded. "Yeah, I know. I love you too, man. We're brothers."

"Yeah, brothers." Goddamn, why was this so difficult?

Before Dean could eke out another word, there was a knock on the door. Roman stood up. "Hold that thought," he told Dean.

Dean sighed as he watched the guy head for the door. Whether the sigh was frustration or relief, he had no clue. Maybe both. Whatever.

Roman popped open the door. "Hey, what's up, Randy?"

"Not much, not much. Hey, listen, you got a sec, Roman?"

Dean perked at the sound of Randy Orton's deep voice. He couldn't see him from his vantage point, but that didn't keep him from wondering why he was here.

"Yeah, sure."

"Great match, by the way. You kicked ass out there, like usual."

Roman laughed. "Appreciate it, man."

"We were thinking about getting some drinks after the show's over. Wanna come hang with us for a little while?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. Who was this mysterious 'we'?

Roman raked a hand through his damp locks. "Sorry, can't make it tonight. I'm a little wiped, to be honest."

"That's too bad," Randy said. "Maybe next time."

"Definitely next time, for sure. Thanks for thinking of me."

Dean stared up at the ceiling, barely listening to the sound of the door shutting and Roman's booted feet approaching him. "Since when does Orton pay you social visits?"

"Randy's cool, man."

"Cool, huh?" Dean met his friend's gaze.

Roman shrugged. "Besides, I can't go partying when _someone_ might've injured his leg and needs babysitting."

Dean gave him a wry smile. "Am I supposed to be flattered you chose me over Orton? Because I am."

Roman rolled his eyes before kneeling down to help unlace Dean's other boot. "Weirdo. What were you gonna tell me earlier?"

Dean watched Roman's quick hand movements as he undid the strings and loosened them enough for Dean to slide his foot out of it. His head was lowered, his eyes concentrating on his task. Dean shook his head. He couldn't do it. The moment was gone now. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Merry Christmas! Thanks for the comments, faves and follows. It means a lot to me, so I wanted to put out Chapter 3 as a sort-of Christmas gift to those who are eagerly awaiting the next update. And yes, Randy has horrible timing! Lol! Hope you enjoy~**

 **Chapter 3**

There were only a few things important to Dean whenever they arrived in a new city: checking into the hotel on time, finding the arena, hitting up a good bar, and a gym—preferably a CrossFit gym.

Most of those things required just him and only him, with the occasional Roman, Seth, or Cesaro thrown into the mix. But today, for some ungodly reason, Randy Orton had decided to join them for a morning workout before tonight's show.

Dean stared across the room at him, his expression probably a mixture of confusion and disgust. He and Roman were doing heavy squats, and for the life of him, Dean couldn't figure out why Randy was there. Or why he kept making convo with Roman when the guy was _clearly_ trying to work out.

The sound of metal clanking against concrete next to him grabbed Dean's attention. Seth mopped sweat from his face while giving Dean his signature arrogant smirk. "Two hundred and thirty five pound snatch deadlift. I'd like to see you top that, Ambrose."

Dean snorted as he adjusted his wrist wrap. "You're such a liar, Seth." He positioned himself properly, inhaling deep before attempting to lift the iron.

Seth crossed his arms across his muscled chest. "No, actually, I'm _dying_ to see you top that."

"Dying, huh? I feel like I gotta go big now. I'll overhead squat it then."

Seth gaped. "You're insane."

"Am I? Or am I?" Dean exhaled the air in his lungs as he deadlifted the weight, his arm muscles tightening in protest. Lifting it was the easy part. It was gonna be hard raising it overhead, and impossible to squat with. The thing was heavier than it looked.

Maybe he was insane.

The transition from deadlift position to overhead was smooth, but Dean's arms trembled with the effort it took to hold that much weight over his body. The burn had started to settle in his biceps already, and he groaned at the pain, but he kinda liked it. Physical pain, he could always handle. It'd become a drug of choice. Pain in exchange for not having to deal with his emotions. It'd seemed like a good tradeoff.

"There's no way." Seth shook his head, his face still mirroring his disbelief. "There's no freaking way you're squatting with that thing."

Sweat beaded across Dean's face, stinging his eyes. His knees threatened to buckle under the pressure. He was already in squat position. All he had to do was bend... "Ah, fuck," he groaned. The sudden strain on his quads was immense.

"Whoa, slow down, old man. Before you hurt yourself."

Dean grinned at his friend, probably maniacally. He lowered himself centimeter by painful centimeter, determined to do it. Dean didn't really care about showboating or proving who the best was. It was usually Seth who made a competition out of everything, especially fitness. But if Dean said he was gonna do something, he had to do it. Even if he pushed his own limits.

By the time Dean got almost halfway down, he was really straining. His arms were like lead, held up by sheer willpower. His thighs ached, and he was sure his skin was mottled red with veins popping out of his face. Dean tried for lower, but his body couldn't take it. He dropped the weight before he killed himself, and face-planted into the cool concrete, a welcome relief to his sweaty, hot body.

"Not bad, Ambrose," Seth snarled. "But Jesus, you're a crazy bastard, you know that?"

Dean laughed in between his heavy pants. "I would be offended, but I know it's compliment to the fact I just beat your ass at the snatch."

Seth grunted, but didn't respond. He knew Dean was right.

"No, Seth's right. You _are_ a crazy bastard."

Dean glanced up as Roman approached, Randy not far behind him. His best friend was giving him that stern, mother-hen look again. But his eyes were filled with awe. He was actually impressed.

Dean peeled himself from the floor, ignoring the imprint he left behind. "You were watching that?"

"Every painful second of it."

For some reason, Dean couldn't help a smug smile at that. He imagined Roman disregarding all Randy's diatribe to watch him do something completely awesome. It made his stupid decision suddenly seem like a great idea, after all.

"You could've killed yourself," Roman continued.

Dean snorted. "Please. I almost killed myself shaving this morning. You know how hard using those things are? The Norelco ones that move and shit?"

"Hah! That is why I do not shave," Seth added with a smile. "Trimmed, but never shaved."

Randy stood beside Roman, smiling broadly at Dean. "I imagine it must be harder for someone who's unstable."

The room grew quiet with the exception of clanking iron somewhere in the background. Seth busied himself with lifting the bar to finish his workout. Roman glanced down at his kicks.

Dean's smile widened as he met Randy's gaze. But he was not happy. Not in the least. His fists clenched at his side. "Was that supposed to be funny?" He finally asked, breaking the tense silence.

"No offense meant. I was just playing off your gimmick. You know, you're unstable. Twitchy."

"Yeah, okay." Dean inched closer to the older male, close enough that Roman had to step in between them. "You got a problem with me or something?"

He wanted to wipe that smirk right off the guy's face.

Randy glanced to Roman. "Is he serious right now?"

"I'm right here, asshole."

"Dean," Roman warned. He glared at him with narrowed steel gray eyes. "He didn't mean it as an insult, so knock it off."

"Yeah, and step back," Seth added. He grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him out of Randy's perimeter.

"All right, mom. Annoying little stepbrother no one wants." Dean stepped away from the party and headed for the medicine balls. His body ached but he still had some frustration to work out.

He could feel Randy's eyes on him like lasers.

Dean grabbed the thirty pound ball. It would be hell, but in the end he'd be glad he did it. He tried to ignore the others.

"Anyway Roman, I know this great fusion buffet downtown. I was thinking we could hit it after we're done here," Randy said.

"They got sushi?" Roman asked. The excitement in his voice made Dean's stomach churn.

"Oh yeah, man, for sure. That's why I thought of it. I gotta see the sushi king in person. What was it? Thirty plates in one sitting? That's insane, dude."

Roman laughed. "That's what they all keep telling me."

Dean raked a hand through his messy hair. He could already feel the signs of a headache. A bad one. "Should've brought my fucking iPod," he said aloud.

The room got quiet again. In the near distance, he heard Roman's exasperated sigh. A pang went through Dean's chest. He felt bad for all the flak he gave the guy, especially when Roman always looked out for him. Always.

"Yeah," Roman said, "we're done here. Let's go."

* * *

"What the hell is your problem?"

Dean ignored Seth as he walked out into the crisp, autumn air, huddling against a strong gust of wind. It was goddamn freezing out, but the cold prickling his skin was a welcome relief. Little puffs of white smoke exited his mouth, making him crave a cigarette.

Seth pulled up beside him, shrugging his muscular arms into his Nike jacket to ward off the cold. "Okay, let's try that again. What was that tension between you and Randy?"

"I don't trust the guy." He didn't even want to think about Roman alone with him, eating sushi together. Selfies would probably be all over Twitter tomorrow. Damn, he really needed to get on social media.

"Why? Randy's cool."

Dean spun around to face him. "Why does everyone think that? Three years. We've been on the main roster three years working our asses off, and sure Orton's been cordial. But that's it. Don't you find it a little odd...just a teeny bit odd that all of a sudden he wants to play chummy now?"

Seth stared at him as if he'd suddenly sprouted a second head. "What is your problem?"

"Forget it." Dean climbed into the passenger side of Seth's rental. He'd driven to the gym with Roman, originally, but it looked like he'd left with Randy.

Seth climbed inside and started the engine. He blasted the heat and rubbed his hands together. "Where you wanna go? Food? Hotel? What?"

"Just take me to the arena, man."

"You sure? It's still early."

Dean glared at him.

Seth held up his hands. "All right. Jeez."

They drove in perpetual silence, only Seth's metal music and imagery of the Mile-High city whizzing by keeping Dean company.

Almost thirty minutes went by before Seth parked in front of the arena. Dean glanced around the mostly empty lot. There were probably only staff and crew hanging around, setting up the ring and doing mic checks before the show tonight. He popped open his door. "Thanks for the ride. I'll catch you later or something."

Seth arched a dark brow at him. "What, you're gonna stay here the whole day?"

"Yeah. That's the plan."

"Christ, Dean."

Dean slammed the door shut. Hunching into his jacket, he headed for the entrance when he heard a slam identical to the one he'd made.

Seth pulled up at his side, shaking his head in anger.

Dean pulled him to a stop. "Where are you going?"

"What does it look like?" Seth pulled his arm from Dean's grasp. "I'm staying with you."

Dean's blue eyes narrowed in confusion. "Why?"

"You really think _I'm_ going to leave _you_ all by yourself here all day? Not happening. Let's go. Fucking cold out here."

Seth half-jogged to the entrance and went inside. Meanwhile, Dean was frozen on the spot, watching his friend's retreating back. Warmth filled the coldness in his chest, melting away the edges of his anger. It was nice to know that, despite working each other's nerves until they were practically frayed, he could still call Seth a friend who had his back when he needed it most.

No, Dean hadn't really wanted to be alone.

"Thanks for that, I guess." Shaking his head with a disbelieving smile, Dean followed him inside.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews everyone! Happy New Year!**

 **Chapter 4**

Dean couldn't avoid Roman all day like he'd wanted. They had a tag team match tonight against the Wyatts. They had segments. It was imperative that Dean and Roman be simpatico once more, especially since they were as much brothers on-camera as they were off.

Most of the other wrestlers had already arrived at the arena with only three hours before the show started. Dean bypassed them, keeping to himself as he was prone to do. He found Roman warming up in an abandoned hallway filled with metal footlockers. Dean leaned against the wall, his heart racing at the sight of his best friend doing pushups. The muscles in his arms rippled as he worked them. His long black hair brushed the floor with each descent. Roman was in the zone, his mind now in work-mode.

As if sensing him there, Roman glanced up. Their eyes met. "Hey," Roman greeted.

Dean shook his head in disbelief. It was just like Roman to not be angry. To not hold a grudge. He'd been like that for as long as Dean had known the guy. "Hey. Was sushi good?" _With Randy?_ Dean avoided saying his name.

Roman cracked a smile. "Sushi's always good, bro."

"Then, are we good?"

Roman didn't even hesitate. "You and me? We're always good." He held out a hand, which Dean immediately took, pulling his best friend into a quick hug. Roman was so warm, and he smelled damn amazing.

Relief washed over Dean now that they'd solidified their bond once more. "Good. 'Cause I need a ride back to the hotel. I gotta get my gear and shit."

Roman sighed and nudged him. "Typical Dean Ambrose. How long have you been here anyway?"

"Would you think it's pathetic if I said I've been here since after the gym this morning?"

"Yes."

"Then I won't say it." Dean led the way towards the back exit away from the waiting fans, Roman right beside him.

The temperature had dropped since earlier. The winds were even colder and stung like a slap in the face. Dean didn't care. He felt alive in the biting cold.

Roman, however, wasn't feeling it so much. He was shivering like a madman. "Should've brought my coat. Damn."

"Here. Use mine." Dean slid off his favorite leather jacket and offered it to Roman, who eyed it warily.

"Are you sure?" His eyes raked over Dean's arms and legs, bare in just a sleeveless wife beater and gym shorts. "You look like you need it more than I do."

"Yes," Dean insisted. "Or do I need to prove how good this feels to me?"

"All right. Thanks." Roman took the jacket, already warm from Dean's skin, and put it on. He immediately zipped up and shoved his hands deep into the pockets.

Even though Dean could no longer glimpse his bulging pecs and ripped arms, Roman looked fucking adorable huddled in his jacket. A swell of protective warmth puffed Dean's chest, an instant barrier against the bitter cold. Roman wearing his jacket... holy shit, he liked it. And damn if leather didn't look good on the raven-haired Samoan. Dean bit down on his knuckle, stifling the next words that wanted to spill out of his mouth.

They pulled up beside Roman's gray Lexus. The guy couldn't get in fast enough and crank up the heat.

Dean slid into the passenger seat, watching as Roman rubbed his hands together and blew warm air into them. "You and Seth are such fucking pussies."

"Oh, and below twenty temps doesn't bother Dean Ambrose?"

"Hell no. Why should it? It ain't gonna kill me."

After warming up enough, Roman finally put the car into gear and made his way out of the arena. There were about a thousand cars parked outside now. "It could kill you. Turn the blood in your veins into ice."

"Even if I slept out here all night with only a threadbare blanket and my guitar for company, it still wouldn't kill me. I wouldn't let it." Dean omitted the fact that he _had_ slept out on the streets in the freezing cold with only the clothes on his back and not much else. He'd survived.

Roman stopped at a red light and glared at him, the disbelief visible somehow in the dark. "I don't think Mother Nature cares about what you want. She has her own plans."

Dean snorted. "Fuck Mother Nature. She could throw as many storms my way as she wants, but it wouldn't matter 'cause guess what? I may fall down, but I guarantee I won't stay down. Nobody controls what happens to me, but me. Not God. Not fate. And damn sure not Mother Nature."

Roman chuckled at his friend's bravado. "Careful. You don't want to tempt the Universe."

"Fuck the Universe."

Several minutes later, Roman pulled into the parking lot of their hotel. He parked under the street lamp near the front of the building. The leather crinkled as he shut off the ignition. Dean grinned at him.

Roman met his gaze. "What?"

"Nothing. I mean, I don't want you thinking I'm weird or anything, but you look really good in my jacket."

Roman suddenly looked flustered. It was nice to see the guy could blush, despite his enviously dark tan. "Of course I think you're weird. But thanks."

Dean popped open his door, letting a breath of cool air inside the stifling car. "Seriously, man, you should work some leather into your ring attire. Chicks would go crazy."

"Chicks already go crazy. I don't need to be giving them anymore ideas."

Dean laughed as he stepped outside. He remembered some of the crazy female fans he'd met over the years and couldn't agree more. "I thought things would be different once I started wrestling in jeans instead of underwear, but they only got worse."

"Hell yeah, they did."

In their hotel room, Dean grabbed his Nike gym bag complete with his ring attire, a change of clothes, wrist support, tape, a water bottle, and pain meds.

Roman watched from the open doorway, arms crossed over his chest, his face devoid of any emotion Dean could decipher. He was surprised the guy hadn't returned Dean's jacket and grabbed one of his own. But Dean wasn't gonna be the first to say anything. "I'm done. Let's go."

"Hold up."

Dean paused in front of his friend. "What's up, big man?"

"Something's been on my mind all day. Something I want an answer to."

Swallowing past a lump in his throat, Dean kept his face steady and schooled, giving no clue to the sudden turmoil boiling in his gut. He had an idea what Roman was gonna ask. "Is this about Orton? 'Cause I _really_ don't feel like getting into it again." He'd just barely gotten over it.

"Well, yeah, there's that. But naw, what I'm actually referring to is the other day. You and me alone in the locker room after you got hurt, remember? I was bandaging you up."

"Don't remember, but it sounds kinky as hell."

"I'm being serious, Dean."

"Me too, Ro. I've been black-out drunk so many times since then. The days just run together, know what I mean?"

"The other day," Roman continued, raising his voice, "you were gonna tell me something. Something that was bothering you." His steel colored eyes bore a hole into Dean's oceanic ones. "You were serious, Dean. So don't sit here and tell me you don't know what the hell I'm talking about."

Dean licked his lips as he tried to rack his brain for some excuse. Some lie he could use to placate Roman. Now was _definitely_ not the right time for a love confession. They'd just made up. "That night, I did technically respond to that."

"Oh really?"

"Yep." The 'p' popped when he said it. "I told you it was nothing. Told you not to worry about it, remember?"

Roman chewed his bottom lip—an action Dean found strangely adorable—as if trying to remember the exact details of that night too. "Okay, so you did. But answer me this. Is what happened today somehow connected to what you were gonna tell me then?"

Dean shook his head, amazed that Roman had even figured that much out. "I plead the fifth. Now can we get going?"

"All right, Dean. Fine."

Dean tried to walk past him, but Roman's strong grip stopped him. They were face to face. Eye to eye. Almost chest to chest but for a few inches. Roman's crisp scent mixed with the leather and tobacco of Dean's jacket was overwhelming.

"Dean," Roman said, his voice low. Dark.

Dean was hyper aware how alone they were right now. How subdued the lighting in the small hotel room was. How they had a little over two hours before Raw kicked off. Dean was suddenly glad for the gym shorts. His thoughts had taken a wrong turn and his cock had reacted to the stimuli. "What?" he answered, voice raspier than usual.

Roman laid a heavy hand on Dean's muscled shoulder. "You're my boy, you know that. So quit acting like you can't come to me for shit, all right? If you're worried it makes you seem like a chick, we can have a couple cold ones first. Get you nice and plastered."

Dean snickered. "And then what? Take advantage of my mental state while I'm vulnerable?"

"That's the plan."

"Creep."

Roman's eyes crinkled at the edges as he cracked a smile. "But in all seriousness, talk to me. Whatever it is, I'll listen."

Dean stared at him a moment, sensing nothing but sincerity radiating off his best friend. "I swear, man, you're like a pot of gold beneath a rainbow. That I somehow found."

Roman couldn't help chuckling at that. "Weird analogy, but let's go with it."

"Come here." Dean stretched out his arms and Roman walked into him. Dean held him close, his face smothered in the crook of Roman's neck. They were pressed together from toe to head. He was so warm. So hot. Dean closed his eyes, savoring Roman's strong arms wrapped around his waist. Holy fuck, he felt good. If he could, Dean would just meld into him until they were completely one.

"There you two are."

The sound of Seth's voice in the hallway turned their heads toward the guy. Seth stood there, watching them with a bemused smile. He was showered and dressed in blue jeans and his custom ring shirt. A snapback covered his damp blond and brown locks.

Dean reluctantly let go of Roman. "Seth, what's up?"

"The others said they saw you two leave together. Figured I'd find you and intervene before blood got spilled. Dean's blood, in particular. 'Cause I just know he would've said something stupid."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Nah, we're good," Roman said.

"Cool. Let's get back to work, then." Seth shook his head. "And a word of free advice. Next time you two try for intimacy, you might wanna think about closing the door first. Just saying."

Roman grinned. "Invaluable advice from 'the man' himself."

Dean picked up his bag. Damn, the moment was over. "And not a second too soon," he said to himself.

Roman had joined Seth in the hallway. Dean locked up the room and followed after them. "Ro."

Roman glanced back at him. The smile on his mug nearly melted Dean on the spot. "What's up?"

Dean practically skipped to catch up with him. Grabbing the back of Roman's neck, Dean pulled his head down for a chaste kiss, planting one right on top his silky soft head. Dean's smile was smug as Roman gave him a questioning look. "Don't think about it too much. Let's go."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Six days on the road a week could be grueling for wrestlers. Six days of non-stop workouts, performing, caffeine, pain, and sleep deprivation. Now that the holidays were getting closer, the good folks of WWE allowed them to tape more shows so they could have extra days off.

Roman and Seth were using their time off to visit their families in Pensacola and Davenport.

Dean was going home to Vegas to get wild.

It was four a.m. on a Wednesday morning when Dean exited his flight at McCarran International Airport. He'd come straight from an eighteen day European tour. He was tired, running on his fourth cup of Joe. Below fifty degrees outside and dark as hell and there was still a small gathering of fans waiting outside for him, holding up all kinds of paraphernalia for him to sign.

Dean didn't smile as he headed out to greet them. He didn't know half the time where he would be next so it always amazed him when fans had it figured out.

The first guy he reached was an overweight thirty-something who jumped up and down like an overeager twelve year old when Dean got close. "Dean! Would you please autograph my Lunatic Fringe shirt? I'm your biggest fan."

"Sure, man." Dean still wasn't used to the attention.

The rest of the crowd, about five or six others, bombarded him with things, all smiles, and even googly eyes and hair tosses from the two chicks in the group. They invited him to one of the many bars that was open at this hour, but Dean shot that suggestion down. Even though Las Vegas was the real city that never slept, Dean Ambrose was hitting his apartment and zoning out for the next ten hours.

The taxi ride was nearly thirty minutes. He lived in the desert, away from the city and its chaos. Only in small doses could he take it. His one off day at home was usually spent in solitude. By the time he reached his front door, bags in hand, his phone began blaring metal music. "Crushed" by Parkway Drive, his personal ringtone for Seth. It was one of the guy's favorite bands.

Dean groaned as he shoved the key into the knob and twisted the door open. The scent of dry air and dust greeted him. "Honey, I'm home," he called, even though the apartment was dark and empty. His dog didn't come running, either, since he was away with a friend. Dean locked up behind him before finally answering the phone. "Ambrose."

"What took you so long?" Seth's irritable voice made his ear itch.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine." Dean hit the switch beside him, bathing the space in light. He'd barely made it three steps before collapsing onto his sofa.

"So you made it back okay? You didn't check in with Roman or me so we got worried." They'd all departed for home at the same time and promised to call one another soon as they made it in one piece.

"I just walked in a second ago." Dean was tired as shit. His eyelids fought against him trying to keep them open.

"Roman called you. Said you weren't answering your phone."

"I had it turned off. He okay?"

Seth sighed into his ear. "He's fine. Happy to be home with his family."

That was good to hear. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Sitting here with my brother eating homemade donuts."

Dean chuckled, though it probably sounded like he was dying with his face buried against the cushion. "You always gain about five pounds every time you visit your family."

"Ain't that the truth? It makes me miserable, all the extra time I have to put in at the gym because of them."

Dean could only imagine. "Well, you finish your donuts. I need to get reacquainted with my bed." It'd been a long flight.

"All right, Dean. Enjoy your time off. It's gonna go by in a heartbeat."

Dean snorted at that. His friend certainly wasn't lying. They'd be back on the grind like usual in no time. "I can't wait."

* * *

Nightclubs usually weren't Dean's thing. They were claustrophobic-inducing noise boxes that never failed in leaving Dean with a massive headache and the strongest urge to either get away or murder someone. Yet, some of his buddies had already reserved a table for bottle service and demanded he get his ass down there.

Not that Dean couldn't use the distraction. Which was why he was currently dressed in some of his best threads and exiting the VIP elevator to the bar area, surrounded by at least a hundred wooden monks. They'd always freaked Dean out, but he didn't sweat it tonight. He walked down the long foyer hallway, glancing once or twice at the sexy, scantily clad models posing and dancing in petal-filled bathtubs. With the candles lit and the Buddhas, the color schemes, and the blatant Chinese culture, the club had a vibe that Dean couldn't really describe, but he liked it.

The thumping party music was welcoming as he made his way to the main dance floor. It was a packed night, like usual, but Dean didn't have to worry about standing around dancing with the "plebs." He found his friends' table and squeezed his way through the crowd to join them. "What's up, fellas?" He greeted them each with a bro-shake and quick pat on the back.

Solomon grinned while scanning the crowd. "Not much, not much. Just good friends, booze, and women. Does a man need anything more?"

Dean ignored him as he drummed his fingers against the table to the beat of the music. Truth was, he could do without either of those things. Though he had no idea what he'd do without Roman, Seth, and the other friends he'd made over the years, Dean had been a lone wolf for as long as he could remember. Booze... he'd miss it, but he'd live. Women. Meh.

Speaking of women, a petite one wearing some lingerie-esque outfit carried out their bottles of good stuff. Dean hadn't really loaded up on the carbs, either. He was looking to have a good time tonight, which meant he needed to get drunk. He was sure Solomon and Kev were looking forward to it, too. According to them, Dean did a lot of crazy shit when he was sauced. They even had video proof of some of it, the bastards.

"I see you checking her out," Solomon said once the cocktail waitress left.

"Yeah, man," Kev added. "You should get her number and bang that."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Boys, the good thing about this place is that _no one_ will ever recognize me here. I ain't jeopardizing that slice of serenity." No matter where he went in Vegas, whether it was a casino, Gold's Gym, or shopping on the Strip, _someone_ always recognized him as Dean Ambrose, the wrestler. But here where it was dark and everyone was packed in like sardines, mostly drunk, he'd managed to avoid that. "If I really wanna pick up a chick, I'll just go to my usual bars."

Solomon laughed. "Dean, my man! Hell, the chicks in here are good to look at, but they're all high-maintenance anyway. Even the waitresses want big tips just to look. Can't even imagine the amount of money you'd shell out to see some action."

Kev shook his head. "Can you say 'long-term commitment' and exorbitant cancellation fees?"

Dean filled his glass with Dom Pérignon rosé and downed it. Honestly, he'd be fine with a few beers, but he wasn't the one paying for bottle service. Just as the first few swallows burned a path down his throat and chest, he was already pouring his second.

The others worked to keep up with him.

A few glasses of Armand de Brignac, Cristal, and Dom Pérignon later, Dean was pleasantly buzzed. Everything seemed louder and brighter, and the urge to hit the dance floor was strong. He couldn't sit still for shit.

Solomon arrived with four women in tow—two blondes, an Asian, and an African-American chick—all beautiful and decked out in tons of makeup and barely-there clothing. Dean blinked at the smiling women. He hadn't even noticed Solomon leave.

Solomon introduced them by name, but for the life of him Dean couldn't remember a word he'd said. "They just graduated from college, so they're celebrating," Solomon explained.

"Beauty and brains," Dean remarked with a sly smile. "I like it."

The girls did that giggle thing that girls do when they're complimented and basking in the attention. The guys made room for them. One of the blondes and the black chick sat on either side of Dean. Amy and Tischa, they said their names were. Both had "fuck me" coded in their eyes.

More bottles were bought. Mixers were added in. Everyone talked and touched in none-too-subtle ways over the pumping music. Except Dean. He kept his hands to himself, even while Tischa caressed his leg with hers, or Amy pressed her tits against his arm.

"I love how rugged you are. I mean, it's not too rugged, but it's still rugged," Amy said.

"Thanks. I don't really like razors."

They laughed.

Dean continued, "They don't really like me either, so there you go."

They laughed harder.

"You're so funny," Amy exclaimed.

"And fit," Tischa added. Her chestnut eyes raked him over as if he were her next meal. She licked her plump bottom lip.

Amy squeezed his muscular bicep. "I know. What do you do for a living that you have to look this good?"

"I work out for a living," Dean replied. It was a half-truth.

"Must be fun."

It could be, in Dean's opinion. But like any job, it had its ups and downs.

The music suddenly changed to some Hip-Hop with a sort of reggae vibe. Dean recognized the singer as Drake, but couldn't guess what the song was. Tischa stood up, excited. "Come dance with us." She held out a perfectly manicured hand for him to take.

Dean shook his head. "I'm a terrible dancer." Besides, dancing with the two of them was the kind of bump and grind he didn't need. Or want. Tonight wasn't really about picking up chicks, or anyone for that matter. He didn't want to give them that impression.

"So? Amy is too." Tischa took hold of his hand and helped pull him up to his feet. He went reluctantly. "Look, it's easy. Just sway to the beat side to side. You don't gotta be fancy. Just follow me. We'll stand right here."

Dean could feel Solomon's and Kev's eyes burning a hole through him as Tischa guided him—unnecessarily—to the song. She'd wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing her lean body against his while they danced together.

"Look at Dean go!" Solomon cheered. The others joined in, drunkenly.

"See, you're not even messing up," Tischa cooed, not stopping the movement of her hips. "You've got excellent rhythm."

"I always did think I had moves."

Tischa laughed. She turned around, pressing her back against him. Her sizeable ass grinding against his cock got him hard. Tischa was smoking hot. It would be so easy to take her somewhere secluded and fuck her crazy. It wouldn't be the first nor the last time, either. But for some reason, Dean wasn't feeling her tonight.

It wasn't a soft ass and large tits he wanted.

Amy came up behind him, wrapping her slender arms around his waist. She pressed against his back and swayed with them.

It was suddenly too hot for Ambrose...

Deftones' "Beauty School" started playing from his pocket. His cell phone.

Perfect. Fucking. Timing.

"Excuse me, girls. I gotta take this." Dean slid out from between them and headed somewhere quiet where he could be alone.

"Don't be too long," Amy called after him.

There wasn't anywhere quiet, but the music was muffled once he entered the foyer hallway. Dean answered the call, ignoring the models in the tubs. They weren't appealing to him anymore.

"Dean," a stern female voice said. It was his sister, Laura.

"Hey Laura, what's up?"

"What's up? You're home, and you didn't even bother to call me?"

Dean blinked slowly, trying to comprehend her words. Confusion clouded his mind. "Wait, how did you know I was home?"

"I called your friends, Dean. Roman and Seth. When you didn't show up here, I got worried. They said you'd gone to Vegas."

Dean clawed at the air in anger. He'd told those two about talking to his sister. He knew Laura meant well, but all she ever did was pry and pry and try to guilt him into doing things he didn't want to do.

"When are you going to come home, Dean? To your real home?"

Las Vegas was his real home. "There's nothing there for me in Cincinnati. You know that." He didn't even want to think about the years he'd spent there in his miserable part of town, with his miserable family.

Laura sighed heavily, like she was arguing with a child. "It's the holidays, Dean."

"Yeah and every holiday I spent in that place was shitty, all right?" He had to bite back on the anger rising as memories of his childhood assailed him. Dean knew it was only the alcohol making him emotional like this. He'd come to grips a long time ago that outside of the last five years, his life had basically sucked.

"I know, Dean." Her voice softened. They were quiet on the phone a while, the only signs neither of them had hung up was the sound of their breathing.

Finally, Dean couldn't take it anymore. "I'll see what I can do, Laura. I'll call you."

"Okay, Dean. By the way, what is all that noise in the background?"

Dean looked around, and then froze as he spotted someone familiar standing near the bar. His lips twitched. "I'm at a club. I've gotta go."

"Okay, but leave the stray whores alone. Seriously, you're so much better than that."

Dean hung up without comment. Straightening his shoulders, Dean stalked to the bar like a predator, his gaze locked on to his target.

His target: a white male, 6'4, 250 lbs., dressed not too shabby in a blazer, pressed slacks, and spit-polished shoes.

His target had just paid the bartender for a gin and tonic with lime. Soon as he put the glass to his lips, Dean bumped into him. Alcohol spilled all over the guy's shirt.

"Can I get a beer or something in here?" Dean yelled over the music at the bartender.

Randy Orton turned to glare at him. Or at least, Dean _thought_ he was glaring. It was hard to tell behind the opaque designer sunglasses the guy was wearing.

Dean put on his best drunken smile, feigning surprise at Randy's "sudden" presence. "Orton, what a surprise! I didn't know you were here." He glanced at the shirt clinging to his skin at the wet spots. "Did I do that to you? Sorry man." Dean swiped at a few specks of liquid. His hits were a bit harder than they should have been, but Randy had a well-defined chest anyway. "If it's any consolation, at least the drink was clear. Won't even leave a stain." Pity that...

Randy took off his glasses. Yep, he was definitely angry. "Ambrose."

"Bartender, can we get this guy another drink? On me?"

The bartender acknowledged him with a nod before he went off to prep their drinks.

Randy wiped his shirt with napkins. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Me? I live here. Well, not here, here. Not in the club. But Sin City's my home. What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like?" Randy scrubbed at the spots with a vigor that would've frightened Dean if he was sober.

Dean held his palms up. "Someone's in a foul mood."

"You have any idea how much this shirt cost?"

"Hey, man, like I said, it won't even leave a stain."

Bartender returned a moment later with a cold beer for Dean, and another gin and tonic for Randy. Dean could barely contain himself as he put the bottle to his lips and sucked the bitter brew down his throat. The shit Solomon and Kev had bought was good, but Dean would always be a simple guy who preferred a cold one over something he could barely pronounce.

"Whatever, Ambrose. I'm not in the mood. Not tonight."

"I can tell."

Randy didn't even bother responding to that. "Where's Roman? Is he with you?"

Dean stiffened. For some reason, Roman's name leaving Randy's mouth made his skin crawl. Not only did he not trust the guy, but something about him seemed off. Randy had ulterior motives. Dean just knew it. "He's visiting family. On the other side of the country." He didn't want to tell Randy where Roman lived, in case the guy hadn't paid attention the million times Lillian or Eden had introduced him.

"That's too bad." Randy swallowed his liquor and slammed the glass down on the bar. "Thanks for the drink." He walked off.

Dean stared at his retreating back. The same confusion was taking over him again. "What does that mean?" It probably wasn't a smart move, but Dean went after him, pulling the apex predator to a stop with a strong grip on his arm. "What do you mean by that, huh?"

Randy ripped free of his grasp. "It means, Dean, that your boy isn't here to have your back. So I'd be real careful if I were you."

Dean stepped into his face, stepped up to the threat. He smiled, despite himself. But it wasn't a good one. His eyes bore a hole into Randy's. "I don't need _anyone_ to have my back. Never have and never will. But you're right, Orton. Roman ain't here. And I ain't afraid of you. So now what? 'Cuz I'm right here, man."

A few passerby stopped to look at them. Dean could feel their stares on his skin like lasers. In the corner of his eye, he caught the bartender signaling for security just in case a fight broke out. Tao didn't need that on their reputation.

Randy leaned in close, his next words only meant for Dean to hear. "Walk away, Ambrose. I don't have time for you. Besides, I'm only interested in Reigns." Randy replaced his glasses and walked off without a single glance backwards.

A fire boiled in Dean's gut at Randy's parting words. _Interested in Roman?_ "What the hell are you talking about?" he called after him, but Randy was already gone from sight. Dean had half a mind to go after him again. If they were anywhere else, he would go after him and demand an explanation. Forcibly. He couldn't. Not here. Dean scrubbed a hand through his messy locks. "Fuck!"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry for the late update! I've been super busy lately, but don't worry I've been dying to get this out to you guys. Thanks, everyone, for the follows and faves, and a special thank you to kyanaM, stingerette1975, and june3law for the latest reviews! Hope you enjoy.**

 **Chapter 6**

Like Seth had warned, their time off came and went in a blink of an eye. They were back on the grind. Business as usual.

It was just after noon when Dean arrived at Bon Secours arena in Greenville, bags and a shot of espresso in tow. He'd been up since four this morning, appearing on a local news channel to promote tonight's live Raw event while "in character." He felt like shit, but hoped it didn't show on TV.

And here he'd thought he would feel rested after all the time off.

Dean stalked the hallways of the grand building, nodding in acknowledgement to some of the other wrestlers, divas, and staff, and shaking his head in disgust at those who had the audacity to bitch and moan about being back on the clock instead of vacationing in Puerto Vallarta or Necker Island. What was the point of being in this industry if you weren't gonna be a work horse?

"Yo, Dean."

Dean's body grew rigid at the sound of that deep, masculine voice. He'd recognize that timbre from anywhere on the planet.

Roman approached from his left, casual clothes on and hair pulled back from his face. He looked as tired as Dean felt.

"Hey, Ro. Mornin'."

As Roman broke out into a grin, Randy's words from last week flooded Dean's mind, dissolving his peace and replacing it with an angry churning in his gut. He'd obsessed over what Orton had said for _days._ Literally. Dean wasn't that smart, but he'd spent countless hours trying to decode the meaning of what he'd said in a way that sounded rational to him.

The only thing he could logically come up with is that the bastard saw Roman for what he was: a cool, laid-back, chill ass guy who's genuinely caring and loyal than most. Randy wanted a guy like that for his friend, that's all. That's all it had to be, Dean had convinced himself. He couldn't imagine Randy actually _liking_ the guy in a way that was completely inappropriate.

 _Why not, Ambrose?_ He asked himself. After all, he liked Roman. And there was nothing innocent about the way he felt. It was highly likely that he wasn't the only male in the entire world that saw Roman for the awesome—not to mention sexy—dude he was. He couldn't be the only guy who dreamed of risking his entire livelihood for a chance to call Roman his.

"Dean, you still with me?"

At the distant sound of Roman's voice, Dean snapped out of his daze. He blinked a few times at his friend. "What?"

There was that underlying note of amusement in Roman's steel gray gaze. "You okay? You just spaced out on me for a second there."

Dean scrubbed his hands across his face. Through his hair. He already looked like crap so he didn't care about mussing the disheveled locks. "Sorry. I didn't sleep at all last night, so I'm kinda out of it."

Roman nodded in understanding. "I asked if you wanted to hit the gym with me. We've got that meet and greet in a little bit. Figure we have a good two hours at least."

"Shit. Yeah, man. Definitely." A workout was exactly what he needed to get his day going. "Who needs sleep anyway, right?"

Roman's lips pursed into an adorable smile that made him look years younger than thirty. He gazed into Dean's eyes as he dragged a muscular arm around his shoulder. "There's my Ambrose."

Dean's heart felt like it was gonna beat straight out of his chest.

As they cleared the hallways, Roman still hadn't let go of him. He was pressed into Roman's side, his body radiating warmth through his company hoodie. He smelled good, like dark spices and sunlight—if the sun had a scent, it'd smell like Roman. Dean also noted that Roman was tanner than usual. Must be all that Florida sun. Despite how tired he looked, the guy was still glowing and just as beautiful as ever.

"Damn, I love your enthusiasm," Roman remarked. He finally let go of Dean when they passed into a narrow hallway that wasn't big enough for them to cross side by side. Dean was actually sad about that.

Roman continued, "You keep me going, you know that? When I'm tired and want to quit, I see you all amped up and ready to go. It motivates me to push myself."

Dean looked away, hoping Roman wouldn't notice how much it meant to hear him say those words. "Well, you're not so bad yourself, Ro."

"Oh? And how is that?" Those magnetic eyes were practically burning a hole through Dean.

"I really gotta say it?" He wished Roman would drop the uncomfortable subject already. No such luck.

"Come on. I'm over here praising your ass. At least say something so I don't feel weird about it."

Dean stuck his tongue out to the side, his pace slowing as he thought about how to answer that. He'd known Roman long enough to know he could get away with almost anything he said. But still, he didn't want to sound like a total fucking sap. Finally, he gazed at his best friend. Right when Roman pushed open his locker room door. "You're unique, Ro. You don't operate like anyone else. You're special."

"Special how?"

Dean sighed, heat suffusing his cheeks. Fuck, this was torture. "The way you are. The things you do. It's like you're not even human. You're superhuman." He grinned. "You're Superman."

The room grew quiet, and Dean couldn't help wondering if he'd said the wrong thing. But Roman suddenly burst into laughter. The sound was rich and deep, it sent a shiver down Dean's spine. "You're a real comedian, aren't you, Dean? And here I thought you were being serious with me."

 _I was being serious._ But he wasn't gonna admit that to Roman. Let the guy think it was a joke. It was easiest that way. Dean cleared his dry throat. "Wanna call Seth?"

"Naw. He's still stuck in Iowa until later. Issues with flight booking."

"Fucking sucks." Dean rifled through his bags for his gym clothes the same time the locker room door pushed open. He glanced up, only to see Randy Fucking Orton filling the doorway.

The guy was already in gear. "Boys," he addressed them both, even though his narrow gaze didn't even glance Dean's way.

Roman looked up and his face softened into a smile. "What's up, Randy?"

Dean didn't greet him. He sure as hell hoped Randy didn't expect one, either.

Randy continued, "Good news, that's what. Looks like the higher ups are pairing me with you guys to take on the Wyatts tonight."

Dean couldn't help but frown at what he considered "good" news. He did _not_ want to tag with Randy, nor even be in the guy's vicinity. "Is he for real?" Dean asked Roman. He didn't even want to talk to Orton.

Randy finally gazed at him, and there was that smug smile in place again. "Dead serious. If you have a problem with it, Ambrose, I suggest you take it to Creative."

Like he'd really go complaining to the upper echelon about something like this. The fact Randy even thought he was that type of man made him itch to push the bastard off a steel cage.

Roman must have noticed the rising tension because he held a hand out to Dean in a silent plea to chill. "We'd be honored to have you on our team, Randy. The Wyatt boys won't know what hit them tonight."

Randy smiled like he was pleased with Roman's words. "Smart man. This is why I've always liked you, Reigns."

Randy's words from the nightclub washed over Dean. The way his salacious gaze raked over Roman's sturdy form made bile rise in his throat. A lightbulb went off in his head then.

Randy knew. Somehow, some way, the prick knew how Dean felt about Roman. Dean wasn't sure how he knew Randy knew, but the way he glanced over at Dean with that self-satisfied grin... it was obvious now. Randy knew, and he wanted Roman for himself. He wasn't keeping _that_ secret.

"Thanks, Randy. I always liked you too."

Dean felt ill at his words.

Randy seemed pleased. "All right then. I'll see you boys out there."

After he left, Roman grabbed his workout gear. "This should be interesting."

Dean shook his head, eyes glued to the spot in the doorway where Randy had been. "Nope. Not in the slightest."

* * *

Dean pounded the treadmill. Sweat dripped from his hair and face, stinging his eyes and staining his shirt. He didn't know how long he'd been on the machine. Everything hurt. His lungs burned with each intake of oxygen. His legs felt like they were ready to collapse, but still he kept going.

Roman had left a little while ago, having already gotten in a quick workout. He'd been worried about Dean, reluctant to leave his best friend in the state he was in.

Dean had told him to stop worrying. Roman would have gray hair by the time he was forty if he kept this up. Besides, Dean hated to see the guy concerned about him. Especially because of something Dean had done.

He'd finally had enough and brought the treadmill to a stop. Somehow he managed to cross ten feet across the sweaty, hot gym for his bottle and bag. He dropped on the floor beside his stuff, too out of it to even take a sip of his room temp water.

"There you are."

Dean glanced up, even though it hurt to do so. He didn't bite back the groan of disapproval and disappointment at who was actually talking to him.

Randy Orton towered over him, his gaze locked onto Dean's prone body with a discernible expression. He'd put on his ring shirt and a pair of jeans, unable to parade around half-naked outside the arena. His arms were folded across his muscled chest as he watched him.

Dean sat up. It still didn't help the size difference from his vantage point, but he didn't look as vulnerable. "You looking for me?" Dean mopped the sweat from his face with a towel.

"Yeah," Randy replied. "Roman said I'd find you here."

Dean balled his fists at his side. Every time the guy said Roman's name... it drove him just a little bit closer to the edge of insanity. "What do you want?"

Randy seemed to be taking him in, noticing the quickness of his breathing, the sweat pouring from every pore of his exposed skin, the limpness in his limbs. "You shouldn't be going so hard when you have a match in a few short hours."

Dean made a face. "And you can shove it up your ass, 'cause I damn sure don't need _you_ worrying about me."

Randy licked his lips, hiding whatever amusement he got from Dean's diatribe. "Always feisty, huh? That's fine, Dean. Actually I just came here to talk to you. That's it." Randy held up his hands as if to prove he was unarmed and innocent. Dean choked back a gag. Even without a weapon, Randy was neither of those things.

"What do you wanna talk about?" Dean punctuated.

"Let's let bygones be bygones, what do you say? I don't like you. You don't like me. But for the sake of the business that we both love, let's try to get along, all right? I have a feeling our feud with the Wyatts won't be a one-time thing."

Dean got to his feet, glad when his legs were steady and powerful once more. He got in Randy's face. This time, Roman and Seth weren't around to hold him back. " _Our_ feud? No, no, no, this is mine and Roman's fight. And it's been our fight for a very long time," he spat. "You're just the outsider in our world, Orton."

Randy shook his head, unfazed by Dean's words and threatening actions. "All right. I get it, Ambrose. You're protecting your boy. Your brother. You don't want to lose him. Especially not to me, is that right?"

A tremor shook Dean. He'd be damned if he told Randy Orton his true feelings where Roman was concerned. Instead he continued to stare down the serpent himself.

Randy continued, "I mean I wasn't sure at first. I thought you were just playing the overprotective little brother role. But then I realized how wrong I was." Randy brought a hand down on Dean's shoulder. It was supposed to be comforting. Empathetic.

Dean only grew more agitated. "Don't touch me." He shrugged the older male's hand off, only to have the latter smirk in amusement. Dean's fist ached to lodge itself in Randy's face.

Randy took a step back and regarded him. His eyes skimmed over Dean, same as Roman's. Except there wasn't that not-so-subtle hint of lust for Dean as there'd been for Roman. Dean couldn't even place the look. It was a mixture of arrogance and smartassery.

"Tell me something, Ambrose. Does your boy know that you want to fuck him too?"

Dean licked his lips. He opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't know what to say. Not really. Not to Orton. Dean tried to smile it off, even though it felt bitter. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't." Randy's tone made it obvious he believed otherwise. "I'll see you out there, Ambrose. Let's try to be friends, all right?"

Dean watched him leave, quietly fuming to himself. Today's aches didn't even compare to the darkness swallowing him. As violent images filled his mind—visions of the ways he wanted to torture Orton that involved forks and pliers and maybe a screwdriver—he thought there was no way he was going to _ever_ get along with someone like him.

Even worse, there was no way in hell he would allow Randy to have Roman. Not ever.

* * *

 **A/N: Things are about to heat up between the two! Please read and review if you like :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Soooo, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. :)**

 **Chapter 7**

Tonight had gone a lot better than Dean had expected it to.

He brought the beer bottle to his lips, casually glancing around the overcrowded club with its blaring rap music and sweaty, dancing patrons. Dean wasn't sure how he kept letting himself get sucked into places like this, but after they'd gotten the invite from Randy, he damn sure wasn't gonna leave Roman alone with him.

Speaking of Roman, he seemed to be having a good time, sitting in VIP with his best threads on, laughing at whatever corny thing Randy was telling him.

Dean sneered. His gaze raked over Randy. The guy was dressed in brand new jeans, silk shirt, nice blazer, designer shoes, and opaque sunglasses. Some type of fancy cologne wafted from his pores. Too much of it. Dean's nose itched in protest. But more than that, Randy had put more effort into his appearance tonight than Dean was used to seeing. Randy was out to impress. He had a feeling it was Roman.

 _What the hell is he up to?_ Dean thought.

"So what do you think, Dean?"

Dean turned his head to his other friend, Seth, sitting beside him casually, an expectant look on his face. He'd had no clue Seth had even been speaking to him. "What are we talking about?"

Seth raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? Where's your head, Ambrose?"

"Up the skirt of the chick in the red dress." No such woman existed. Not to Dean, anyway.

"Where?"

Dean made a show of scanning the crowd for this enigmatic lady in rouge. "Ah, guess you just missed her. She had a hot ass, too."

Seth shook his head in exasperation. "I hope you suffocate down there for ignoring me."

Dean snorted. "C'mon, Seth. I wasn't talking about _that_ head."

"You're sick." But his little brother grinned anyway. "I was talking about Steve Austin's new IPA coming out this November. Broken Skull beer. You trying it?"

"Not really an IPA kinda guy, but it's beer, so yeah, man. I'll try it."

The song changed to another rap number. Eminem, one of his classics. Dean remembered listening to and even relating to a few of his songs back when he'd been a young bull.

"Speaking of beer," Randy interjected, "who do I have to RKO around here to get a few more rounds? I was under the impression being VIP meant bottle service."

Roman stood up, dusting himself off. "I'll go. Everyone knows I'm the most polite of the group."

Dean scoffed at his words. "We ain't a group, Ro." He and Seth were his family. Not Randy.

Roman threw him a warning glance before he stalked off. Randy only smiled as if he couldn't give a rat's ass what Dean thought of him. "I'm gonna hit the john," Randy said. He stood up and left them alone.

Probably because the tension had skyrocketed once Roman had gone off.

Seth sipped the remnants of his beer. He was quiet, but his eyes were shifty, like he had something on his mind.

"What is it, Seth?"

Seth glanced up at him, startled. "What?"

"Oh come on, Sethie. You look like you've witnessed a murder and the culprit is standing next to you. Say it. Or don't. I don't care, really."

Seth sighed dramatically. He ran a hand through his hair as he glanced around. Seth leaned in close to him, like he was a co-conspirator or some shit. "You know I don't like to gossip about people, but..."

As his voice trailed off, Dean waited for him to finish. He grew agitated with each passing second where his friend remained silent. "What is it, man? Is it about Ro?"

"No. I mean, kinda."

Dean perked at that. Now he was really curious. "Seth, I swear to God if you don't spit it out, I'm gonna shove this bottle down your throat. You'll have to use Sign Language to communicate."

Seth glared at him, not at all amused by his friendly threat. "Ha ha. You're not funny, Dean. No, but seriously, it's about Randy mainly."

Roman _and_ Randy? Dean's stomach knotted itself. This wasn't gonna be good.

Seth continued, "The way Randy looks at him sometimes. I don't know, it's just weird, you know what I mean? I get this vibe that Randy likes him. A lot."

"You mean you think Orton's a fucking fag?"

Seth frowned. "Don't say 'fag', Dean. It's the twenty-first century, for chrissakes."

"Yeah, you're right." Dean swallowed the last of his beer. "My bad." He smiled inwardly, actually glad to hear Seth say that. At least he had an idea his friend wouldn't react too badly if Dean told him his secret. "What about Ro? You don't think he..." Dean swallowed hard. He couldn't even finish the sentence.

Seth shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I mean, you can never know for sure, you know? But Roman... I doubt it. He's just being nice to Randy because he knows."

Dean shook his head in confusion. "Wait a second. You're saying Roman knows how Randy feels about him?"

"Dude's not exactly subtle, and Roman isn't an idiot."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, deep in thought. It was only plausible Roman would know—or at the very least suspect—how Randy felt about him. But the guy was so nice, practically a saint. Dean would have told Randy to fuck off a long time ago. Especially if he wasn't interested. By taking him up on his invites and hanging out with him, all Roman was doing was kindling hope in the guy's thick skull.

It kinda filled Dean up with rage. Just a little bit.

Dean patted Seth's knee. "I'll be right back. Gotta take a piss."

"Whoa, hold on a sec." Seth grabbed his hand, glaring up at him. "What are you up to, Ambrose? What are you gonna go do?"

Dean grinned. "I'm gonna relieve my bladder of all this fluid, all right? That's it. So you can stop flirting with me in front of all these people."

Seth let go of his hand. "If you're not back in seven minutes, I'll tell Roman you went to fight Randy in the men's room."

"Who me? I'd never do such a thing."

"Like hell you wouldn't."

But Dean had already left the VIP section and disappeared into the crowd. He pushed past the horde of dancing people, ignoring the bodies pressing up against him, hands grabbing him every now and again, and long hair slapping him in the face. By the time he reached the restroom, Dean felt violated. He pushed open the door.

Randy stood in front of the glass bowl sink, washing his hands. His glasses were off and he glanced up at Dean as he grew near. "Ambrose."

"Orton." Dean entered the space. It was normal at best. Lot of polished tile in neutral colors, glass, and stainless steel. Though someone had made an effort to make it look tropical with fake potted plants and paintings of oceans and sunsets. Dean didn't bother with the empty stalls. He took the urinal closest to Randy and relieved himself with a deep sigh. "Lotta beer tonight. It's just like drinking water, to be honest. Goes right through me."

He glanced at Randy wiping his glasses and studiously ignoring him.

With a smirk, Dean zipped himself up once he finished. He approached the "viper" and took over his sink. "Hey, that's a nice blazer, by the way. Whose it from?" He brushed his hand over the padded shoulder of the expensive-looking fabric.

Randy shrugged off his hand with a glare. "Are you serious right now? You did _not_ just touch my blazer with your piss-stained, grimy hands."

"Whoa, chill out, man. All the urine landed in the bowl, I swear." He couldn't help but grin at the anger seething under Randy's skin, mottling it.

Randy closed the distance between them. Heat was practically radiating from him. "You think you're funny, don't you, boy?"

"I think I'm hilarious, actually. I also think you need to calm down before you turn into the Hulk."

"Oh really?" Randy stepped closer. Close enough that his nose was only inches away from Dean's. His breath smelled like beer and mint. That fancy cologne clogged Dean's senses.

Dean shrugged, glancing up into those narrowed blue orbs. "Just my expert analysis. You're welcome, by the way."

"Your expert analysis, huh?"

That was what he'd said...

"Know what, I'm gonna go." Seth was right. Roman would be pissed off if this thing between them escalated. Still, he couldn't help but get a kick out of getting under Randy's skin. Making him angry. He brought a heavy hand down on Randy's shoulder. It was supposed to be comforting. Empathetic. "Don't worry, man. Let's end this night on a good note." He wiped his grimy, piss-stained hand on him. "Let's try to be friends, all right?"

Randy shoved a hard fist into Dean's gut. "Analyze that," he growled.

Dean kneeled over, holding onto his midsection tight. He groaned at the pain radiating through him. Damn, he hadn't expected Randy to _really_ hit him. He struggled to his feet, lungs wheezing as he forced oxygen through them. "For once, can I meet someone who doesn't wanna hit me at some point?"

Randy opened his mouth to say something, but Dean didn't let him. He charged him, his big body crashing into Randy's and bringing the larger man down onto the cold tile.

It was on now.

Fists went flying. Legs kicking out. They grabbed at one another, rolling and knocking over the plants while struggling to subdue the other.

Blood dripped onto Dean's shirt, but he ignored it. He couldn't even feel anything with all the adrenaline rushing through his veins. He almost laughed, except he didn't because he didn't want to come off as a maniac. But he could literally get high on the stuff.

The opening door barely registered to Dean until a strong embrace pulled him away from Randy. He growled in annoyance at whoever was getting between him and his prey.

"Are you fucking serious?" Seth's irritated voice in his ear. "You promised me you wouldn't pull this shit, Dean."

Roman was holding Randy back. Randy, who looked equally hungry to get back at Dean. He looked a mess, nice clothes torn, face reddened with anger and a nasty bruise starting to form beneath his high cheekbone. "You're dead, Dean! Dead! I'm gonna bury you, you hear me? Let go of me, Reigns!"

Dean spat a mouthful of blood next to Randy's polished shoe. "Come on, then. Try to bury me. I'd just love to cut the head off the Viper."

Randy unleashed a savage growl and came at him with a fierceness that impressed and startled Dean. Even Roman, who was a good fifteen pounds heavier than Randy, strained with the effort of holding Randy back.

"Shut the hell up, Dean," Roman grunted.

Seth locked his arms around Dean's chest and hauled him backward. "Shut up, Dean! You're so fucking unbelievable right now. You have to start crap everywhere you go, don't you? Dean Ambrose, always the center of fucking attention."

Dean's face scrunched in anger at words that offended him. Mostly because they were untrue. "The bastard attacked me first, Seth. I was defending myself."

"Yeah, right."

Dean didn't say anything, but it stung a little that his brother didn't believe him. But he didn't worry about it too much. He was still staring into the eyes of a beast that refused to back down.

Roman hauled Randy backward. "We'll talk semantics later. But first, let's get the hell out of here. And can we _not_ cause a scene while we do so, please?"

Dean shrugged. "What? Why are you looking at me?"

"You know why. I'm disappointed in you."'

"Please spare me the patronizing lecture. You assholes weren't here, so you don't know what happened. Orton hit me first. I hit back. End of story."

Roman shook his head. Rather than respond to him, his best friend pulled open the door and helped Randy outside, pleading quietly with him the entire time.

It fucking made Dean sick.

Seth didn't let go until they were gone from sight. "Thanks for ruining the night."

Dean walked to the full-length mirror. "Hey, you're welcome." Now that the endorphins were fading, he realized he was in more pain than he'd initially thought. His ribs hurt and his face was on fire. Randy had popped him good in the eye. His nose and lip were busted, but nothing was broken. He'd live.

"You look terrible," Seth said with a huff.

Dean grinned and winced as his lip split even further. "You should see the other guy."

"I did see the other guy, and you look worse than he does."

Dean rolled his eyes. He was about to call out the little prick, but Roman re-entered the restroom, a tired look on his face.

"Randy went home on his own. He was pissed as shit."

"He got what he deserved." Dean splashed cold water on his face. It stung like hell, but it got the job done, cleaning away all the blood.

Roman glared at him without another word. Not yet, anyway. Dean could tell the man was dying to rip him a new one for his behavior tonight.

Seth took one look at Roman's face and headed for the door. "I'll bring the car around," he mumbled. He left them alone.

Dean folded his arms across his chest and smiled at his best friend, the man of his dreams.

Roman frowned harder. "Why are you smiling? I don't think any of this shit's funny."

"It's not. I'm waiting for the verbal ass kicking you're about to deliver." He cocked a finger at him in a 'come-here' motion. "Bring it."

"This isn't a joke, Dean. We have an image to uphold. A reputation to live up to. We can't just be fighting in public restrooms like savages whenever we feel like."

"Uh huh." Dean stepped closer to his fuming best friend.

Roman didn't stop, however. He was just getting started, it seemed. "I don't know why you hate Randy so much. Frankly, I don't give a damn, but I thought you were better than this. You wanna beat him so bad? Beat his ass in the ring, where it's fair. Appropriate. But don't pull this shit, especially while I'm here. You want to get in trouble, hey that's fine. But don't drag Seth and me down with you."

"Yep." He was standing in Roman's face, still nodding at his every word. The heat from his big body nearly singed Dean with its intensity. Roman was so angry, and Dean was so sick of it already. All he wanted was to calm him down.

Roman's eyes narrowed as he realized his closeness. "Dean, what the hell are you—"

Dean kissed him. He didn't touch him, but he locked his lips onto him, softly, tentatively. Just the barest brushes of dry skin against smooth ones.

Roman finally shut the hell up.

Dean's body came alive at the feel of him. The intimacy. He wanted to dive deeper, thrust his tongue into his mouth and taste him. Sink his aching hands into Roman's hair. Touch him everywhere.

It was a battle keeping his hands folded across his chest. _Yeah, right._ More like hugging himself.

Roman gently pushed him away, a look of bewilderment plastered on his sinfully gorgeous face. "Whoa, Dean. Why did you...?"

Dean shrugged, his expression as guileless as he could make it. Then again, he probably looked pitiful in his current busted up state. "I don't know. Didn't want you mad at me anymore." His anger hurt worse than Randy's blows.

"Oh, I'm still mad at you. But now I'm just confused as hell." Roman passed a hand over his lips. Those lips Dean would give anything to taste again. This time properly. "You're not drunk are you?" Roman asked.

"Doesn't really matter. Let's just... I mean, will you come back to the hotel with me?"

* * *

 **A/N: I told you things would heat up between Dean and Randy! And I know some of you are probably thinking "Finally" to that kiss. Yay for progression! But where do things go from here? Stay tuned for Chapter 8, coming soon :P Please review if you enjoyed this! I'd appreciate it very much.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Wow, thank you all so much for your awesome reviews! And all the new follows, etc. I'm one happy girl here~ :) I'm glad everyone liked the kiss. I was pleased with the way it happened. So Dean-esque, in my opinion lol! But now, here is the long-awaited Chapter 8. Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 8**

The drive back to their hotel was quiet and uncomfortable, only the soft sound of Deftones trickling out of the car's speaker. Seth was driving and ignoring them, eyes glued to the road, voice singing along to the familiar song. Roman sat beside him, arms folded across that thick chest of his while he stared out the window at all the passing traffic. He'd let his hair down—literally—so he could tug at the silky strands and have a place to sink his fidgety hands in. It was a habit Dean had known the guy to have since forever ago. Usually it meant Roman was pissed and trying not to be, or he was working out scenarios in his head. Either way, it didn't bode so well for Dean.

Dean sank into the back seat, not bothering with his safety belt. He watched Roman's expression through his reflection in the foggy glass window, trying his hardest to decipher what Roman could possibly be thinking about. So far he had nothing. The guy didn't give a single clue as to how he felt.

Another painful ten minutes flew by before Seth finally parked the car in the hotel's underground parking lot. He shut off the ignition and gave them both pitiful glances. "You guys coming in or what?"

Dean didn't say anything. Whether he went inside or not was Roman's call. Instead he sat impatiently, waiting for his best friend's verdict.

As if sensing Dean's gaze, Roman looked back at him. His face softened a degree. "You go on ahead, Seth. I need to talk to our boy for a minute."

Dean's chest pounded as they locked gazes.

Seth nodded. "You guys promise that if I leave you alone out here you won't kill each other?"

Roman broke eye contact first. He smirked at Seth. "No guarantees, but I _can_ say that it's highly unlikely. As long as this guy doesn't continue to piss me off tonight."

Dean cut in. "Trust me when I say I ain't going there, either. My face can't take anymore blows."

Seth glared at him now, his dark orbs skimming over Dean's facial injuries. "It's what you get for looking for fights all the damn time."

Dean shrugged. "Fair enough."

Seth shook his head, livid at Dean's lightheartedness at their current situation, it seemed. Not that Dean cared. If it stopped mattering to him, then it shouldn't matter to them. He was the one that got his face punched in, not them. Seth sighed. "All right, then. Talk. I'll be back to make sure you two are alive after I shower."

Neither of them said anything as Seth left them alone. Not even when their youngest brother boarded the elevator up to the main level.

Dean didn't know what to say. He ran plots in his head, but none of it made any sense. He didn't know what to do when Roman was angry with him like this.

Before he could work it all out, Roman popped open the passenger side door and got out.

Dean exhaled a deep breath. It was just as well Roman didn't want to really talk to him. Maybe tomorrow he'd be in a better mood. Dean didn't bother looking up to watch Roman leaving him all alone in the lukewarm car.

The opposite rear door popped open then. The leather seats crinkled loudly as Roman got in next to him. He shut them inside together.

Dean stared into his best friend's face, hiding his surprise at seeing Roman sitting beside him, staring back. Dean cleared his throat. Wiped his sweaty palms on his good pair of jeans. In the quiet dark, seated so close in the cramped space, it was all too easy for his mind to go to places it shouldn't.

Roman swiped a hand through his hair. "Listen, Dean—"

"I'm sorry, Ro. Sorry about the whole thing, all right? Honestly, it was stupid and it never should have happened. And yeah, I provoked Orton intentionally."

"I figured that much."

"Point is, it _wasn't_ my intention to drag you and Seth down or get you involved in any way. You gotta know that, Ro. I wouldn't do that to you. Ever." He'd rather die than jeopardize Roman's or even Seth's career over something he'd started.

"I know, Dean." Roman patted his thigh. "I know."

Dean licked his lips, staring down at the strong hand on his leg. Even though now was not the right time for it, he couldn't help imagining that hand sliding higher and higher and cupping him where he ached the most.

He prayed to God Roman didn't notice his growing erection.

"Let's just do away with the public outbursts in the future, all right? For all our sakes."

Dean nodded. "Whatever you want. I'll be a good whittle boy from now on. Promise."

Roman finally cracked a smile, unable to help himself. "Shut up."

The heaviness in Dean's chest lifted at the sound of Roman's soft laughter, loud in the tight space. He attempted to laugh as well, but his jaw instantly protested that. The stabbing pain made him wince. "Fuck."

"Let me see." Roman scooted closer, gingerly taking Dean's chin in hand to examine his face.

Though how he could see clearly with only the dim overhead lighting was beyond Dean. He didn't care either way. Roman's crisp scent invaded his senses. He smelled like soap and cologne, and a dab of something dark and spicy. His soft pants against Dean's face were warm and sweet. Dean eyed those lips, desperate for a nip, hungry for a taste of them.

"I got some stuff in my bag for this. Shouldn't look too bad once I'm done fixing it up," Roman said.

Dean gazed into those probing steel colored eyes. He licked his lips. "Ro, there's something I gotta tell you."

Roman's hand fell from his chin. He regarded Dean with a question mark drawn across his face.

Dean's stomach knotted itself painfully. _Just fucking do it, Ambrose,_ he thought. _Just tell him how you feel. How you've always felt._

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, Roman held a hand up. "Dean, wait. I know what you're gonna say."

Dean couldn't breathe. "You do?"

Roman nodded. "Of course I do. I think I've known for a while now."

Shit. That only made Dean feel worse. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Roman. I didn't know if I could take that chance without knowing how you'd react." He mentally cursed himself for stupidly keeping it a secret all these years. Of course Roman would figure it out eventually. Not like he wasn't Dean's best friend for nothing.

Roman smiled sadly. "It's okay, Dean. You didn't know for sure, right? I mean, you suspected it all along, didn't you?"

What? Dean frowned in confusion at the guy. "What are you talking about?"

Roman arched a brow at him. "Randy. Weren't you gonna tell me Randy likes me?"

At the implication of what Roman was saying, Dean slid his hands through his hair, tugging the locks hard enough to hurt a little. Fuck, why couldn't he ever catch a break with this? Roman had no actual clue how Dean truly felt about him. He'd been thinking of Randy Fucking Orton the entire time.

Roman continued, "I mean, that is why you've been pissed off at him, correct? Why his presence freaks you out a little."

Not exactly, but whatever. Nothing to be done about it now. "Yeah, Ro," he reluctantly agreed. It was partially the truth anyway. He didn't want Randy making moves on his best friend. His brother. The man he was in love with.

"I thought so." Roman sighed deeply, as if the entire thing afflicted him.

"It don't bother you? That he likes you, I mean." Dean held his breath as Roman met his gaze head on, his mind clearly working to say his next words carefully. More than anything, Dean needed to know how Roman felt about all this. Was he somehow interested in Orton? Would he even admit that to Dean?

"Yeah, it does a little," Roman admitted softly. "But not because he's gay. I don't care that he's into dudes, that's his business."

Dean shook his hand in a 'go-on' motion, getting impatient with the burning desire to know.

Roman continued, "It bothers me because I'm just not into Randy like that."

Dean exhaled deep, not realizing he'd been holding his breath in anticipation. Relief swelled through his chest.

Roman didn't like Randy.

No matter what that sly bastard did, it would all be for nothing. Dean was sure his smile was smug as shit as he tried to picture Randy's frustrated mug at not bagging the hot Samoan. "Have someone in mind, then?" Dean knew it was a dangerous question, but he needed to know the answer. Consequences be damned.

Roman peered outside the window. Seconds ticked by without a word from him. Dean feared he wouldn't actually say anything until Roman turned around to face him, his expression solemn. He shook his head. "Nah, there's no one. I can't imagine doing the whole relationship thing when all I can focus on is my career."

Dean's heart sank into his gut. For some reason, those words hurt more than if Roman had said he'd liked Randy too. There was no one he liked. No one he wanted to at least date for a lengthy period of time. Dean clenched his teeth. Roman was so close, but he might have been on planet Mars for all he cared. Dean could feel him slipping away from him, becoming farther and farther out of reach.

As if sensing Dean's somber mood, Roman playfully nudged him. "What about you, Ambrose? Feeling anyone, lately?"

Dean shook his head. "Not really."

"Well, when it happens, that's gonna be one hell of a lucky girl to be with you." He gave him a reassuring smile.

 _Fuck you, Reigns._

Dean could feel a headache coming on. He rubbed a hand through his hair, unable and unwilling to look at Roman. Dean knew it wasn't Roman's fault and he had no right to be mad at him. Not like the guy was a mind reader who could easily find out Dean's true feelings where he's concerned. His own best friend didn't even know Dean was into men, for fuck's sake. And that was all Dean's fault. He could have told him a long time ago.

The passenger door was yanked open, allowing a cold gust of wind to enter the car. The chill was like a slap to the face. It instantly sobered Dean up.

Seth glanced back and forth between them. "Good, you're both still alive. And you don't look worse for the wear, either. Thank God." Seth was dressed comfortably in sweats and a light jacket. A Chicago Bears beanie covered his still-damp locks, and he'd replaced his contacts for glasses. "You guys still talking out here? I ordered room service."

"Know what? I'm actually starving," Dean exclaimed. He hopped out of the car and stretched his stiffened limbs. "All this talking's made me work up an appetite. I don't see how chicks do it."

Roman followed suit and shortly after the trio were walking back to their rooms. It was like nothing had ever happened. Like Dean hadn't had his bleeding heart ripped from his chest and stomped on.

Dean regaled them with his usual hilarious antics all the way to the elevator, masking the tension that threatened to boil up between him and Roman if they walked in silence.

Once they reached the steel trap, Dean could no longer swallow past the lump in his throat. "You two go on up first. I need a smoke."

Roman regarded him. Always the worrier of the group. "Everything okay, Dean?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean assured him. "I'm craving some French fries, man. Might stop by McD's or something. Checkers, maybe."

Roman didn't look too convinced, but he nodded anyway. He couldn't stop Dean either way. "All right. We'll keep your plate warm."

"Won't be gone that long." Dean shoved his hands into his jacket pocket as he turned to leave.

Roman pulled him to a stop, grabbing him into a hug that nearly stole all the air from Dean's lungs. He held Dean tight, not letting go even when the elevator dinged open and Seth beckoned him.

Dean didn't return the hug. He couldn't. His hands stayed where they were because if he had to touch Roman back, he would fucking lose it.

"You're my brother, Dean," Roman whispered against his ear. "You know I love you more than anything. I'll always be there for you, no matter what you say or do."

Dean closed his eyes at the feel of him. The heat coming off him in waves. Those deep, soft words succeeded in breaking his resolve. He practically melted into Roman's strong embrace. "Yeah, Ro. I know."

* * *

 **A/N: Poor Dean, right? This was a hard one to write, but the story is leading me into its own direction, my input be damned! But seriously, this is the beginning of a new chapter in our Ambrose's *fictional* life. I love your reviews, so please leave me some more! Did you love the chapter? Hate it? Can you guess what's next? What do you think Dean will do now that he knows there's no chance of Roman returning his affections? And what was that strange, emotional hug at the end? Lol! Stay tuned.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Sorry this is late! And thank you so much for the reviews. I appreciate them. Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 9**

"I'm telling you right now, I can't wait to bust some heads tonight. I just wanna hold Luke Harper's head in my hands, you know what I'm saying? And squeeze. Squeeze until his skull busts like a grape."

Roman chuckled softly as he taped up his wrists. "That's sick, man."

Dean pounded his fists together. He was all amped up and ready for his tag team match against Bray and Luke tonight. The two had it coming, especially after what they did a few days ago, siccing their gigantic black sheep on them. Dean's ribs still ached from that massive bear hug.

But anytime he could get in the ring and kick some ass was good for him. He hadn't really been himself since his talk with Roman last week. Sure, he'd "forgotten" everything and moved on. Because Ro was his brother and that's what brothers do. He moved away from all the awkward crap and tried to carry on like they normally did. Only Dean seemed to notice he was drinking more than usual, in his head a lot more than normal, and easily agitated. He hadn't been able to get Roman out of his fucking mind. "Yeah, well, it's what they deserve," Dean answered. "And Dean Ambrose is here to deliver in Albuquerque, New Mexico, baby!"

Roman laughed again. "You sure you don't wanna come with us Downtown after the show? We're bar hopping down Central Avenue. The Bellas and Paige will be with us."

"Nah, I'm good." Dean wasn't in the mood for social drinking. Not tonight. "Don't get too drunk, all right? We're going hiking in the morning."

"I thought we were going ballooning?"

"Yeah, we will. After breakfast, before lunch. Sound good?"

Roman grinned. "Sounds great." He pulled off his ring t-shirt, revealing his well-defined pecs and abs and the start to that delicious fucking tribal tattoo.

Dean averted his gaze. "Cool. I'll see you out there." He didn't wait for Roman's response as he pulled open the door and left the stuffy room. Dean exhaled a deep breath. All he needed was to chill out, blast some Pantera, and find a nice dark corner to finish warming up. The rest of the night couldbe easy breezy...

"Hey, Ambrose. Roman in there?"

Fuck.

Dean narrowed his eyes as Randy Orton approached him. He was wearing nothing but his ring gear, all oiled up for whatever match he'd be having tonight. "There goes my good night," he mumbled.

Randy stopped three feet in front of him. "Ignoring me now? I asked you a question."

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's called selective hearing. You should Google it."

"That's real funny, Dean." He moved to open the door but Dean blocked his way. Randy glared at him. "There a problem, Ambrose?"

"Yeah. Roman's in there."

"I get that. So would you step aside so I can talk to him?"

Dean didn't budge. His hands itched with the urge to punch Randy in the face in retaliation for all the damage he'd done last week.

Randy's lips twitched up, part annoyance, part amusement. He stepped even closer to Dean, tainting his clean air with the scent of whatever aloe vera oil he used on his body. "Dean, you could step aside willingly, or I could make you move. And I guarantee that little restroom scuffle won't compare to what I do to you this time." Randy swiped his thumb across the yellowing bruise beneath Dean's eye.

Dean didn't even flinch at Randy's implied threat. He cracked an amused smile that he prayed pissed Randy off. "Okay, Orton. You think I'm supposed to be afraid of you just because you threaten me? You have any idea who you're talking to? There ain't shit you can do to hurt me. You could drop a bomb on my head, and guess what? I'd scrape my remains up off this floor and come after you with a vengeance the likes of which you've never seen. Or don't want to see."

Randy sniffed at his words, hounding him with his angry glare, but he didn't say anything. Probably couldn't say anything other than to admit how deranged Dean really was.

But Dean wasn't through yet. "And one more thing, Orton. Don't think that Dean Ambrose is only good at taking pain, because I guaran-damn-tee you I can dish it out as good—no, better—than I get it. You don't want me to start dishing out pain, do you? I'm talking forks and pliers, blowtorches, pizza cutters, anything I can get my grimy hands on, I'm hitting you with it."

"I dare you to try."

"There you two are."

Dean looked up the same time Randy did to catch Mark Carrano approaching them. Dean stepped back first. "This ain't gonna be good."

Randy looked like he agreed as he folded his arms over his chest.

Carrano stopped in front of them. "Come on, guys, don't be like that. Actually, I have some good news for you both." He faced Dean first. "Your tag match with Roman has been scrapped tonight."

"Oh, really?" Dean wondered why.

"Yeah, sorry. After how much the WWE Universe _loved_ Roman's brawl with Bray Wyatt last night, Creative's gonna focus on their individual feud for a little while."

Dean glared at the guy with disbelieving eyes. "Uh huh. And how is this good news, exactly? I mean for me, not Ro, since I'm the one out of a match now."

"You're not. Here's my good news. You two—" He pointed between both Dean and Randy—"will be teaming up to take on the New Day. How's that sound?"

Randy arched a brow at the shorter man. "The New Day? Are you kidding me right now?"

Carrano at least had the decency to look sheepish under their identical scrutiny. "Sorry guys, but it's not my call. Don't worry. Should be a good match."

Dean balled his fists at his side as the guy scurried off. Anger ripped through him at this latest development. He had to tag with Randy. Again. "I'm getting real sick and tired of this crap," he stated, not caring that Orton was glaring at him as if he took offense to his words.

"Oh, I'm sorry. _You're_ sick and tired?" Randy countered.

"Zip it, Orton." Dean didn't even look back as he headed off to find his quiet corner to warm up for tonight's "new" match. He didn't even care if Randy did find his way inside Roman's locker room to talk or whatever the hell he wanted his best friend for. That was the furthest thing from Dean's mind. Right now was about calming himself and putting on a professional façade. To keep from doing anything stupid that would fuck up his career in WWE. Taking a deep breath, Dean glanced up at the ceiling and said a quick prayer to God that tonight would go well. He knew he would need the extra help.

* * *

They were fifteen minutes into their match and Dean Ambrose was annoyed. He paced the apron, talking shit to himself through clenched teeth, pulling his hair in frustration, very much the unstable lunatic everyone seemed to be falling for. The first few minutes of the match had been comic relief, what with the New Day hurling insults and taunts and playing that damned trombone. Which Dean was dying to shove up Xavier Woods' ass.

But their antics had grown old fast. Dean was ready to put an end to this match.

Randy had been getting worked over by the trio for the past couple minutes. They were trying everything in their power to keep Orton from making the tag; to keep Dean out of the match.

Dean was like a dog infected with rabies, chomping at the bit to get at them. Especially Big E. If that bastard shook his ass at him one more time...

Big E had Orton in an abdominal stretch, smacking his heavy hand down on Randy's side in rhythm with their chant.

"Let's go, Orton! You need to tag me in now. Come on, man." He needed in this match.

As Dean stomped his boot down on the steel steps, the crowd got behind him, trying to rally some vocal support for the Viper to get out of his predicament. It was insane, the deafening amount of noise they made together. The ground practically shook from their rhythmic cries and chants.

Randy was starting to feel it too. Using his full strength, Randy forced the big man off him and shoved him against the ropes. As Big E rebounded, Randy went for his famous power slam, but Big E saw it coming. He caught Randy in a belly-to-belly suplex and sent the two hundred fifty pounder flying like a ragdoll.

"Tricep meat!" Xavier shouted. He played the trombone again and the other two goons twerked on the ropes.

Dean silently cursed to himself. He bounced on the bottom rope, calling out to Randy to do something other than being the New Day's punching bag.

Big E dragged Randy into their corner so they could start the Unicorn Stampede.

As the big guy repeatedly brought his foot down on Randy's chest, Dean couldn't help the spark of satisfaction he felt at seeing the "Viper" all helpless and hurt. He had to remember Randy was his partner, though, and to keep his inner cheers on the inside.

Kofi Kingston tagged himself in. He brought his winged foot down to stomp Orton, too, but Randy caught him first. Randy flipped him, and the dreadlocked high-flyer howled as his back hit the mat.

The crowd roared with applause.

Randy was definitely feeling it now. He sprung up, all stamina, and delivered quick hard elbows to both Xavier and Big E. The two fell off the apron, momentarily out of commission. Kofi charged Randy, but Randy sidestepped, forcing Kofi to go outside the rope. True to his nature, the guy hung on for dear life.

But Randy was expecting him to.

A blow to the face stunned Kofi. Taking advantage of his state, Randy pulled him through the middle rope. The entire Universe was on its feet, it seemed, as Randy spun his hand in that little train motion that he does before delivering a face-busting DDT to Kofi.

Dean was fired up, ready as he saw his chance to finallyre-enter the match.

Randy slow-crawled to their corner, sore from the impact to his back. Meanwhile, outside the ring, Xavier and Big E were up and trying to rally Kofi to stop Orton before he made the tag.

Dean stretched out his hand, holding on to the string attached to the turnbuckle. "Come on. Tag me in you son of a bitch."

Kofi was up. He made the tag to Xavier.

"Come on!"

As Xavier came charging after them, Randy _finally_ smacked his hand. The tag was made. The crowd went wild as Dean stopped Xavier's forearm and delivered a staggering head-butt. This was exactly what he needed.

Dean could barely think straight past the noise and pound of adrenaline shooting through his veins, giving his body only one command: Go!

He had Xavier in the corner, delivering chop, jab, chop, jab, chop, jab...

A running Bulldog had the crowd chanting his name. Dean was riding high on their collective energy. He pulled Xavier up, ignoring the guy's agonized groans. Dean hooked him in position for his finisher move, but Xavier slipped out of his grasp and managed to tag in Kofi, who was pissed and ready for a fight.

Good, 'cuz Dean was ready to give him one.

They charged one another and locked up. Dean out powered the smaller man and forced his back against the turnbuckle, but Kofi wouldn't let go so neither did Dean.

"Break it up," the ref shouted. "One, two, three..."

Dean let go first, holding his hands up in an I'm-not-gonna-touch-him gesture. He took a step back, while the referee worked on separating them. Kofi drove his boot into Dean's gut.

Dean instinctively dropped to his knee, reeling from the blow. Distracted, he didn't have enough time to defend the dropkick to his head. Stars filled his vision and he fell flat on his back.

"Oh my god," Xavier exclaimed, "what happened, Deano? What happened?"

The referee took Dean's hand in his, and Dean gave it a squeeze. No way in hell was he getting out of this match because of _one_ kick to the head.

Kofi dragged him into their corner and proceeded to stomp the living crap out of him. Big E tagged himself in and did the same thing, stomping him until he was meshed against the bottom turnbuckle. Xavier tagged in and joined them.

Dean didn't know how long they kept it up, but finally one of them dropkicked him in the face. Pain blossomed in his cheek.

As the trombone-playing started up again, the arena was filled with boos and chants of "New Day Sucks."

"Get up, Dean," Randy called from the opposite corner.

 _Don't have to tell me._

Veteran or not, Randy didn't need to tell him what to do. He'd been wrestling for thirteen years.

The mat shook beneath Dean's head. He could make out Big E looming over him, getting closer and closer. Dean braced himself right before the three hundred pound man flattened him. The impact stole the air from Dean's lungs. He grunted in pain, rolling onto his side.

"Tag," the ref called.

Kofi hopped into the ring again. "New Day," he shouted.

"Sucks," the crowd exclaimed, as they were supposed to do.

"No, we don't suck," Xavier yelled in response.

Idiots.

Kofi dragged him up by a fistful of hair into a sitting position.

Dean braced himself...

Kofi delivered a staggering kick to the back of Dean's head. The impact sounded like a lightning strike, and the crowd even grimaced in sympathy.

"Fuck!" Dean instantly cradled his head as it throbbed in agony. He swallowed blood. _Motherfucker._

It was time to put an end to this match.

Pushing the pain into the background of his mind, Dean sat up in time to see Kofi deliver a running Enzuiguri to Randy, knocking his partner off the apron and into the barricade.

Dean jumped up. He was ready.

As soon as Kofi turned around, Dean was on him. He hooked him into position for Dirty Deeds and dropped him. The loud thud of his head bouncing off the mat had the crowd cheering like madmen.

Dean paced the ring like a caged animal, eyes wild, mumbling incoherently as he waited for the other two to decide if they wanted some of this or not. Judging by the hesitant looks on their mugs, they were too scared to even come in the ring.

"Come on!" Dean goaded.

Kofi was flat on his back, unmoving. All it would take was a simple three count pinfall and he could finally be done with all this.

The crack of a steel chair hitting flesh brought Dean back into sanity. He watched as Big E fell off the apron with a groan. Randy was in his sights, his face filled with anger as he wielded the chair.

"What the fuck?" Dean asked aloud, momentarily forgetting this was a PG show.

Randy swung the chair and hit the pleading Xavier across the back, dropping him.

The referee rang the bell. The match was over.

"Your winners, by disqualification, the New Day!" Lilian exclaimed.

The crowd booed.

Dean stared at Randy in disbelief. What was he doing? "What the hell is your problem?"

Randy slid into the ring, completely bypassing Dean without glancing his way. He methodically lifted Kofi's supine body off the mat, dragging him into some semblance of a standing position. He glared at Dean as he RKO'd him.

* * *

"Orton!"

Dean was pissed off as he stormed into the locker room where Randy had disappeared to earlier. He clenched his fists at his side, barely containing the anger waiting to unleash itself all over the Viper.

Randy turned around to face him. A towel was draped over his shoulder. He looked like he was prepared to take a shower. "You need something, Ambrose?"

Dean got in his face, not caring that he was sweaty and panting from exertion and frustration. "Yeah, what the hell was that out there?"

"What are you talking about?"

Dean shoved him. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. I had the match won, and you draw a DQ on purpose? Why? We didn't have to lose the match!"

Randy shrugged nonchalantly. It was obvious he didn't give a shit. "Because they pissed me off."

"Oh, is that it? They pissed you off?"

"And because, Dean, I felt like it."

"You smug son of a bitch."

"It is what it is. Now do you mind leaving my locker room so I can take a shower?"

Dean didn't budge. He closed the distance between them. They were practically chest to chest, their noses almost close enough to brush one another's. "I can't wait until our next match, Orton. I'm gonna beat the hell out of you. I'm gonna enjoy wiping that stupid smile off your face with my fist. And even if we're partners again, I'm still gonna kick your ass. It might get me into trouble, but I couldn't give two shits right now."

Randy folded his arms across his chest, not looking the least bit ruffled by Dean's threats. In fact, he was smiling. The bastard was actually grinning like Dean was telling a joke or something.

Dean growled in anger. "Looking at your face pisses me off!"

Randy licked his lips, leaning in close. "Are you done?"

"Fuck you." Dean turned to leave the room, otherwise he would murder him. But before he could, Randy pulled him back. Dean balled a fist, ready to swing—consequences be damned—when something wet and warm pressed against his lips.

Randy was kissing him...

Dean froze to the spot, too stunned to do anything, let alone move. The kiss wasn't tentative in the slightest. Randy kissed him chastely but confident, just like Dean would expect him to. Not that he'd ever thought of the guy in that way...

A long moment passed before Dean finally pushed him away. He was disappointed when Randy didn't go flying into the opposite wall. "What the hell, man?"

Randy stood there, cocky and smirking. He wasn't sorry in the least. "Anyone ever tell you you talk too much, Dean?" He winked at Dean before gliding past him and into the bathroom.

Dean wiped his mouth as confusion racked his brain. "What just happened?"

* * *

 **A/N: Not what anyone was expecting, right? What did you think? :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I'm gonna try to get these out more often. Real life just takes up so much of my writing time, know what I mean? Really appreciate all the comments! Enjoy~**

 **Chapter 10**

"Yo, Dean. You got a sec? I need to talk to you."

Dean paused at the sound of Roman's voice outside his shower. He'd just finished the opening match of a dark show in Santa Fe. Dean's entire body was sore from his match against Dolph Ziggler. Honestly, he just wanted to get on the road to El Paso so he could pass out already.

Sleep had been elusive. Especially after the events of the past week. And last night.

Dean swiped a hand over his wet face before he wrapped the towel around his waist. He pulled back the thick blue curtain separating him and Roman. "What's up?"

Judging from the seriousness in Roman's face, this was not gonna be good news.

"Hey, I know you had the early match, but you're still gonna wait around for me and Seth right? So we can make the drive to El Paso together?"

"That's the plan." The three always traveled together since their days as The Shield. Even now, what with Seth betraying them and all, they still kept up with that little habit except for in special cases.

"Cool. I kinda did something and I feel really bad because I know you won't like it," Roman said.

Dean stared at him as his mind ran rampant with things Roman could have possibly done. "Oh God, Ro."

Roman instantly looked apologetic. "I know I shouldn't have. And I'm so sorry, Dean."

Dean didn't know how to react. Not without knowing what he should be forgiving Roman for in the first place. "Just tell me what it is, man. Lay it on me."

"It's about Randy."

Dean hesitated. "You're not gonna say what I think you're gonna say, are you?"

Roman nodded, confirming his worst fear. "He needs a ride to El Paso. I told him he could come with us."

Dean sucked in a deep breath, staring at the fluorescent ceiling fixture even though the brightness hurt his eyes. It was taking all of his strength not to get angry at his best friend. He counted to ten in his head, only half-listening to Roman tell him about Randy's problems with the car rentals, how the guy didn't have him in the computer record, and there were no available vehicles, etc. Dean didn't give a crap about any of that.

Roman continued, "I already told him yes, so... I guess you've gotta deal with it."

"I do?" Dean countered. "It's my car. I don't want to spend five hours locked in a car with him, Ro."

"I know, Dean." Roman lowered his head, gazing at him with big gray eyes as wide as a puppy's. His hair fell into his face in a motion that was both irresistible and charming. And also annoying as hell. It was the _one_ face Roman made to guarantee his exclusion of Dean's wrath.

It worked every damn time.

Dean looked away. "Don't do that," he warned.

"C'mon, Dean. I already said the guy could ride along. If I change all of a sudden, it makes me look like a liar. You want me to look like a liar, Dean? You would damage my reputation like that?"

Dean snarled at him. "Don't try to guilt trip me. Ain't gonna work."

"If you do this for me, I'll owe you. A lot. And I'll even make that dish you like so much."

Dean couldn't help but perk up at the sound of that. "You mean, Samoan chop suey?"

Roman grinned as if to say 'gotcha bitch.' "It's traditional sapa sui, and yeah, I'll make you some. Just the way you like it."

"You'll even take out the mixed veggies and add bok choy and corn beef instead?"

Roman nodded. "Just the way you like it, Dean."

Dean thought about it really hard. Sapa sui was actually one of his favorite simple dishes. Roman had introduced it to him about two years ago when he'd made some for a family gathering he'd invited Dean to. Truthfully, Dean had fallen in love with the dish at first taste, and since then he'd been trying to get Roman to make some more but they were always too busy. Of course he wanted some.

But he still didn't want Randy in his car. Even if it was a rental.

He stared at Roman a moment as another thought crossed his mind. Doing this could also prove to Roman that he could be the bigger, better, more mature person. And to Seth that he didn't have to start shit every time Randy Orton was in his presence. It would be killing two birds with one stone. One painful stone, that is.

Dean sighed with resignation. "All right. Orton can come with us."

Roman broke into a huge smile that made his answer so worth it. "I knew you'd come through, Ambrose. Thank you. I owe you." He pulled Dean against him in a hug, not caring that he was still dripping wet or half naked.

Dean allowed himself to be squeezed. He wanted to enjoy the feel of Roman's strong and joy-filled embrace, but all he felt was regret. Regret that he held these feelings for the guy when Roman wasn't even interested in him, or anyone for that matter.

Dean cleared his throat as he gently pushed out of his hold. "Yeah, yeah, but remember you owe me. A lot. And I want my Samoan chop suey on a silver platter. Pronto."

Roman chuckled. "Deal. Hell, we'll even add a couple cold ones and make it a date."

Dean swallowed hard. "I look forward to it."

* * *

Roman exited the arena first, bags in tow.

Dean stabbed out his cigarette on the frosted over bar he'd been occupying. Even though he knew the smell would still linger in the air and on his clothes, Roman hated whenever he smoked and so Dean tried to be respectful when he was around.

Dean hopped down and went to help Roman with his luggage. It was a chilly night in Santa Fe, about forty degrees. Though it felt like closer to thirty with all the wind. Even still, Dean wasn't wearing anything heavier than a hooded sweatshirt and a beanie. His jeans were worn and not nearly as warm as they'd been when he first bought them.

Roman thanked him as Dean took one of his bags and hauled it to his rental. The guy was all bundled up in a wool jacket over a long sleeved shirt, heavy jeans, boots, a snow cap, and gloves. It was all Dean could do not to laugh at the ridiculous sight he made.

Florida boys...

"Got everything?" Dean asked.

"Yep," Roman replied with a smile. "Looking forward to our road trip with Randy?"

Dean frowned, glancing at the arena in dread for Randy's arrival. "Not particularly. Is it too late to change my mind?"

"Too late," Roman reminded him. "Why do you hate Randy so much, anyway?"

 _Because the guy's nuts. He kicked my ass one week, and then kissed me the next._

And Dean had thought himself crazy...

But he couldn't tell Roman about the kiss. Or anyone, for that matter. God knows he didn't want to talk about it and relive that moment.

"I don't hate him," Dean said, surprising himself with the sincerity of his words. "Guy just rubs me the wrong way."

"Gee, I wonder how many people have said that about you, Dean."

 _Yeah, well... I've never kissed anyone who thought I was a pain in the ass._

Roman hopped into the passenger seat of Dean's car. The engine was already running and the heat blasting just the way his best friend liked.

Dean stood outside waiting. Mainly because he hadn't told Seth what kind of car he was driving. He didn't want his friend searching the entire massive parking lot for him.

Five minutes later, he spotted Seth and Randy coming outside together. They looked about as tired as Dean felt, even from this distance, with their sluggish gaits. But they were still all smiles and animated conversation.

Bile rose in Dean's throat as Randy grew near.

Seth greeted him first with a brotherly hug and pat on the shoulder. "Pop the trunk."

Dean opened it so they could toss their luggage inside alongside Dean's and Roman's. Even though it galled him to do so for Randy. He'd be damned if he helped the Viper with his bags like he'd just done for Ro. He'd offer to help Seth, but the little prick already made enough jokes about it as it was.

Randy nodded in greeting. "Thanks for letting me ride with you boys tonight."

Dean shrugged. "I didn't really want to, but whatever. You're here now."

"Hey," Seth called from behind the trunk, "can you not pull this crap tonight, Dean? No one has the energy to deal with it."

"All right, man. Just telling it like it is, that's all."

Randy didn't seem fazed by Dean's brutal honesty. He brushed by him with that same smile still in place. "I appreciate it anyway."

Dean didn't say anything as he hopped into the driver's seat and buckled up. He'd been hoping to get under Randy's skin a little; piss him off. But instead it'd backfired, and now Dean was left looking like the immature one. Again. And here he'd thought to be the better man for Roman.

Seth and Randy slid into the backseat once their things were stored away.

"I hope everyone took a piss already," Dean said, "because I don't plan on stopping for nothing."

* * *

An hour and a half into their drive to El Paso, and Dean pulled his car into the parking lot of a McDonald's—the only food joint they'd come across in the last fifty miles. Dean had to piss like nobody's business. Not only that, but he was starving. And so were the others.

Climbing out of the car, Dean stared at the yellow neon "M" and sighed. It wasn't even his cheat day, but he'd give his left testicle for a batch of hot, salty French fries.

"God, I'm starving," Seth reiterated as he followed after him. He'd pulled on his beanie and glasses, probably hoping he wouldn't be recognized in his normal getup.

Dean didn't bother with any of that. Being that he was one of the most famous and popular indie-to-grand stage wrestlers, he'd learned long ago that he always got spotted no matter what. He only hoped no one bothered them too much tonight.

Roman and Randy were the last to exit. Dean glanced back at them as he locked up, his eyes narrowing in on Randy, specifically. The guy had been good throughout the ride so far. He'd been quiet, earphones plugged in, watching a movie on his iPad. There hadn't been one snarky comment today.

It kinda freaked Dean out a little. Not that he didn't appreciate the silence.

The McDonald's was fairly empty besides the bored workers and a few patrons. They got a couple stares when they walked in, but not the 'Oh-my-God-I-recognize-them' stares. More like 'Holy-shit-four-big-ass-dudes-just-walked-in' kind.

Dean approached the counter first and ordered.

"What a week it's been," Roman said.

"Tell me about it," Seth replied. "It's been a while since I've felt this tired."

"Same here," Randy agreed.

Dean turned around to face the blue-eyed Viper. "So _that's_ why you haven't been giving me crap lately. Too tired, huh?"

Roman and Seth glared at him, but Dean ignored them both. He smirked at Randy while waiting for his comeback.

Randy sighed. "That's right, Dean. I can't get it up for you today."

"Sounds like a personal problem."

"Would you knock it off?" Seth nudged him hard in the ribs.

Dean winced at the pain. His ribs were still sore from earlier. "Easy, man."

Randy chuckled. "Oh, Dean. That mouth of yours, I tell you."

"Got a problem with it, Orton?"

"I do, actually."

The edges of Dean's lips twitched in anticipation of what that meant. "Wanna do something about it?"

Randy shrugged, hiding a smile that threatened to show itself. "Let's go outside, then."

As Randy started for the door, Dean rotated his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. He owed the guy an ass kicking anyway.

"Dean." Roman brought a hand onto his shoulder to get his attention. His gray eyes were filled with concern, pleading him to stay inside.

As Dean looked at him, he wanted to. He wanted to be the calm, rational, level-headed guy Roman thought he could be. He yearned to be the bigger man; the guy who could ignore an enemy and not heed to a senseless fight.

He wasn't that guy. Probably never would be.

Randy had challenged him to a fight, and Dean didn't back down from a challenge. Not ever. Every cell in his two hundred and twenty-five pound body itched for a rematch with Orton.

"Just let him do whatever he wants, Roman," Seth said. "If they wanna kill each other, I say let 'em. I don't care anymore. I'm too goddamn hungry _and_ tired to play referee, all right? Go let loose, cowboy. Try not to get blood everywhere."

Roman sighed in annoyance. "I'm gonna stop riding with you guys." He walked past Dean, shaking his head in bitter disappointment.

Dean felt bad about it, but the desire to beat the living hell out of Randy only intensified. It was his fault Roman was now upset. "Sorry, Ro." Not waiting for his brother's response, Dean pushed open the glass door, scowling as he approached Randy.

Randy looked up from his cellphone. He smiled. "What took you so long? For a second there, I thought you were gonna chicken out."

Dean shook his head. "You ain't getting off that easy."

"Lucky me, huh?"

"Sure, man. If that's how you wanna look at it."

Randy stared at him a long second. Too long for Dean's taste. The hair on the nape of his neck bristled at all the extra attention. "What?" Dean couldn't hide the agitation in his voice. "Are we gonna do this or not?"

"Whatever you want, Dean."

Sure. "Hold on a sec." Dean approached the side of the building, out of sight of the people inside. Unzipping his jeans, he peed onto the broken gravel, sighing in relief as the heaviness on his bladder finally eased up. Once he finished, he wiped his hands on his jeans and balled his fists at his side. He grinned at the look on Orton's face. "Okay, I'm ready."

Randy approached him, his gait slow and methodical, like he was feeling Dean out. Waiting for him to make a move. "Dean Ambrose. You're a real comedian, know that?"

Dean didn't wait for Randy to come to him. He strode toward the Viper, getting in his face, bumping his chest against his. "How about we stop beating around the bush, asshole?"

Randy shoved him back so hard he fell onto his ass. Dean got up as wave after wave of adrenaline coursed through him. He went to tackle the older man down, but Randy had him pinned against the side of the building, quicker than he'd realized. His fists were balled into Dean's sweatshirt, the weight of his body against him crushing.

"If you wanna hit me, hit me!" Dean spat in his face. He braced himself for the incoming blow.

"I don't want to hit you, Dean."

"Then let me go so I can beat the shit out of you."

Randy shook his head, leaning in close. "I don't want to let you go, either," he whispered, his warm breaths falling against Dean's face.

Dean frowned at him, genuinely confused and feeling awkward as hell. "Then what do you want?"

Randy laughed softly, so softly Dean barely heard it over the pounding in his ears. "I want you, Dean. Just you."

Dean didn't have time to react. One moment he was staring into Randy's face. The next, Randy was kissing him. Again.

What. The. Fuck?

Randy brushed his lips across his, gently, like a feather ghosting across them. Dean couldn't move as Randy trailed an icy hand along his stubbly jaw and over his cheek before he sank into his hair. He balled a fist into his locks and yanked his head back.

Dean growled.

Randy pressed against him firmly, his lips now prying Dean's apart and his tongue snaking its way into Dean's mouth. He kissed him hard enough to steal the breath from his lungs. It was the stuff movies were made of. Dean also got the feeling Randy was trying to establish dominance.

Fuck that. Dean's body came to life as he kissed him back, just as hard. Just as aggressively. He nipped the Viper's bottom lip until the coppery taste of blood coated his tongue.

But Randy didn't stop. Whether he noticed or not, Dean didn't know. Hell, the guy probably liked it.

But Dean couldn't breathe, not with Orton's tongue invading his mouth. He was a hell of a kisser, and he tasted incredible. Like mint and some exotic spice. Dean was so aroused, it hurt. Not just because of the kiss. Randy was good, but he wasn't _that_ good.

No, the guy was grinding his knee into Dean's cock, torturing him with a rhythm that mimicked slow, long strokes.

Dean pulled away from Randy's mouth. He placed his hands on Randy's shoulders, but he didn't have the strength to push him away. Dean panted with need and frustration. "Fuck... stop."

Randy looked at him with an arrogant smile Dean was dying to wipe the ground with. "You really want me to stop, Dean? I don't think you do."

"Hey, are you guys done killing each other yet? Food's probably cold—holy shit! What are you two doing?"

* * *

 **A/N: Who doesn't love a good cliffhanger? Lol! Thoughts on Randy's new attitude? Can't wait to see you next chapter.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: This chapter was difficult to write for some reason, but I hope you guys like it. By the way, thanks for all the comments and favs and love. You guys rock!**

 **Chapter 11**

Dean drove his knee into Randy's balls. As Randy crumpled to the ground in agony, Dean felt bad. He hated to be _that_ guy—the dirty, low-blow delivering bastard, but he'd panicked. Seth's voice had brought him back to reality. A reality where he was supposed to despise Randy Orton, not be engaging in sexual activity with him.

Flustered, Dean approached Seth. He prayed to God his friend wouldn't notice his pitched tent. "Yeah, we're done. Everything's good now."

"Christ, Dean. We can't take you anywhere, can we?"

Dean didn't comment. He glanced back at Randy and realized there was no way Seth could have seen them kissing. It was too dark in the corner. If anything, he probably thought Dean was being choked out.

"Yeah, I'll just go check on him. You're welcome." Seth bounded off to see to Randy.

Dean went inside. He'd barely made it in the glass door before slumping against it with a big exhalation. His lips still tingled from Randy's kiss. His cock throbbed with need. Shit, when was the last time he'd gotten laid?

Glancing across the room, he locked gazes with Roman, who was staring at him with a stoic expression. Dean straightened himself up and approached his best friend. "Scoot over."

Roman hesitated, as if pondering whether he should let the "crazy" guy sit at his booth. He finally made room for Dean to sit beside him. "I got your food. Can't guarantee it's still hot, though."

"Thanks, man." Dean went straight for his fries, grabbing a handful and shoving them into his mouth sans ketchup. They were lukewarm and a little soggy, but exactly what he needed right now.

Roman handed him his Diet Coke. "We really need to do something about this temperament of yours. What did I tell you about embarrassing us in public?"

Dean smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Ro."

"I mean, damn, don't you get enough of beating people up at work?"

"Randy's a douchebag, Ro. He's a smug, sadistic, narcissistic prick and I don't want anything to do with him." He knew what Randy was _really_ trying to do back there. That whole 'I-want-you' drivel was just a ploy to get under his skin. Throw him off balance. Dean smacked his forehead. He was an idiot for falling for it. Now he'd inadvertently given Randy the upper hand. "I gotta take a piss. I'll be right back."

Roman nodded, still staring at him with worry evident on his face. "Don't be too long. We'll be hitting the road shortly."

"I'll be quick." Dean entered the public restroom which was, thankfully, empty. He went into a stall anyway and locked himself in. He freed his erection from the confines of his jeans . "Shit," he whispered in disbelief. He was rock hard and swollen. Just the slightest touch made him shudder.

It embarrassed and reminded him of the few times in his wrestling career where he'd gotten wood during a match and hoped like crazy no one noticed. The last thing he needed was pictures uploaded to social media. But those moments hadn't been because of any physical attraction to his opponents. He couldn't care less about any of those guys. Dean Ambrose was a consummate professional. But sometimes—just sometimes—what with all the adrenaline pumping in his veins, and his skin hypersensitive and receptive to all the touching and aggression, well... it just happened.

He liked to think his current dilemma was because of that, and not anything to do on Randy's part.

Dean stroked himself. He tried not to think of Randy's lips on him; the feel of his body pressed against him. Everything Randy had done tonight, he wanted to erase from memory. Especially in this moment.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean pictured Roman. He licked his lips, remembering how good Roman had tasted when he'd kissed him. Unbidden, Dean imagined Roman in Randy's place. Imagined it was his best friend's hard body pinning him against the rough concrete of the building. He could almost smell the lust and dark spices wafting off Roman as they kiss.

"Oh, fuck, Ro." The desperation in his voice as he masturbated to sexual images of his friend was pathetic. Matter of fact, this whole scenario was pitiful. But Dean couldn't stop. He wouldn't. It was too damn good, and it'd been a long time since he'd felt like this.

Roman reached into the waistband of his jeans and took hold of his cock in his fantasy. Dean's breathing quickened as he stroked faster. Squeezed harder.

The pleasure was dizzying.

In his daydream, Roman dropped to his knees in front of him and Dean was ready to explode. He bit down on the inside of his arm to stifle his cries of ecstasy as he shot his seed into the toilet.

Sweaty and flushed, Dean sank against the graffiti-covered door and stared off into nothingness while his body recovered. This wasn't the first time he'd jacked off to thoughts of Roman, but he surprised himself at the levels of low he could stoop sometimes. In a filthy stall, he'd defiled his best friend's image just to erase the things Randy had done to him tonight.

Someone knocked on the stall. "Yo, Dean. You about finished in there? We're ready to go." Roman.

Dean's heart nearly jumped out of his chest. Had Roman been here the entire time? He'd been so into it, he hadn't heard the restroom door opening. Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'll be out in a sec." His voice sounded hoarse.

Only after Roman left did Dean clean up and re-dress. Standing in front of the sink, he didn't even want to look at himself in the mirror. He would probably be disgusted by what he saw. Dean slapped himself. Hard. "Get your shit together, Ambrose."

* * *

The ride to El Paso was taken in silence. Dean could feel the heat from Randy's glare on the back of his head the entire way. Seth sighed dramatically every five minutes as if trying to tell them he was bored out of his mind but too proud to talk if they weren't. Dean hadn't cared about any of that stuff. He'd been too busy focusing on the street, the lights, the signs, anything he could to keep from facing Roman.

He couldn't do that. Not yet.

Dean watched the road until his eyelids grew heavy and he fell asleep...

Someone patted his arm. "Dean, wake up. We're here."

Dean cracked open his lids only to freeze as he stared into a perfect pair of discerning gray eyes. They were a little tired from the drive, but perfect nonetheless. Dean couldn't think of a better word. His heart raced at the sight of them.

He wiped sand out of his own eyes and stretched. His stiff joints popped with relief. "How long was I out?"

"Just a few hours. Randy and Seth went to check in already."

Dean glanced out the window. They were parked at the hotel. "Sorry, Ro. I'm usually better company than this."

"Don't worry about it." His best friend moved to the back to retrieve their luggage. Dean reluctantly got out of the car to help him.

"Seth told me, by the way," Roman said.

Dean hesitated. "Seth told you what?"

"About what you did to Randy. I think you should go apologize to him."

Dean snorted as he slammed the trunk shut and led the way inside the hotel. "Yeah, right. That's exactly what I'll do." Not.

He stalked across the nearly empty lobby, which was really nice with its marble floors, fancy chandeliers, and abstract paintings. The place wasn't five stars or anything, but it was nice.

Roman pulled up beside him. "When are you gonna be a man, Dean? When are you gonna own up to your mistakes and deal with them?"

Dean rubbed his chest, as if Roman's words had pierced him there. "Ouch. That really hurt."

Roman rolled his eyes. "I'm serious, Dean."

"Me, too, Ro. Look, Orton's a tough guy. He'll be fine. Don't worry." He patted Roman's shoulder.

Shaking his head, Roman approached the front desk. "That's really not the point." After a brief conversation with the concierge, she handed him a keycard and told him to enjoy his stay. Roman palmed the thing and went for the elevator. "I'll see you in the morning."

"What? Don't you wanna share a room?" Dean called after him.

Roman turned to face him, and the look on his mug nearly forced Dean's gaze away. There was disappointment. Bitter disappointment and pity. Maybe even a little sadness and confusion. "Not tonight, Dean." Without another word, Roman boarded the elevator and disappeared.

Dean stared at the spot he'd stood in, unable to erase the image of Roman's face from mind. It kept replaying over and over, and he felt worse and worse over the entire thing. Dean grabbed for his hair, but remembered he was still wearing his beanie.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Dean was on autopilot as he gave her his name and took his keycard. Roman's words played through his mind while he rode the elevator to the next floor. As he walked down the spacious, empty hallway, he thought about Roman's last request.

Dean stopped in front of room 204. He knocked and waited.

Seth opened the door a moment later. He was already dressed for bed in his Chicago Bears pajama bottoms and t-shirt. Heat wafted from his room and into the hallway. "Dean. What's this about?"

Dean shoved his hand into his pocket. "Nothing, man. I just wanted to apologize for tonight. That's all."

"Okay." Seth spoke it slowly, as if he was unsure about Dean's true intentions. The suspicious look on Seth's face would almost be comical if it wasn't so damn sad. Seth rubbed his beard. "Have you even gone to your room yet?"

Dean glanced down at his bags and attire. "Nah, not yet. Wanted to get this off my chest first." Truth was, Dean hated being alone, especially in hotel rooms. It was tolerable when he was too drunk to give a shit, but most of the time he paired up with Roman for exactly this reason. Time alone meant time to think. And he hated to think too much. It was too damn depressing, the things he couldn't get off his mind no matter how much he tried.

"I appreciate it, Dean, but I'm about to go to bed, man. You need anything else?"

Dean closed his eyes, remembering Roman's last expression. He hated to do this, but... "Yeah. What room is Randy Orton in?"

Seth's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Do you really think so little of me, Seth? You think I'm just gonna go attack him in his hotel room like Cena did with Edge?"

"Well you haven't given me much reason to believe otherwise."

Dean guessed he deserved that. He could be a total nut, especially around Randy Orton. He didn't know why, but something about that guy brought out the worst in him. "To be honest, I'm not sure seeing Randy is a good idea. But I really need to apologize before I lose it." He hoped the sincerity of his words got through to his little brother. If not, well... he'd be searching the entire damned hotel for Orton.

Seth finally threw his hands up in surrender. "All right, all right. Jesus. I swear you can be a freak sometimes."

Dean grinned. "Aww, Sethie. I already told you I'm not into you like that."

Now it was Seth's turn to roll his eyes. "He's down the hall. Room 211. Now get outta here so I can sleep." Seth closed the door shut before Dean could even say thanks.

Dean didn't take it personally. The drama queen was usually cranky without his beauty rest. Luggage in tow, Dean headed down the hall towards Randy's room. He'd thought he'd be nervous, maybe even angry, but all he felt was tired. And not just physically. More than anything, he hoped that after tonight, he and Randy could be done with this battle of theirs. He was sick of embarrassing himself in front of the only person who really mattered.

Dean parked outside room 211 and knocked swiftly, loud enough for Randy to hear even if he'd fallen asleep.

After the third knock, Randy opened the door with a questioning look. He was dressed down in a Henley sweatshirt and sweatpants. Seeing him like that, all relaxed, Dean couldn't help but think of how non-threatening he appeared. "Ambrose," Randy said. "This is unexpected."

"You got a minute?" Dean just wanted to get straight to the point and be done with it.

Randy folded his arms across his thick chest. "You wanna finish that testicular retrieval you started?"

Dean bit back a retort. He didn't come here to argue, even though every cell in his body was begging him to make some sort of stupid remark that would guarantee the door being slammed in his face and him being back at square one. "Look man, I just came here to say I'm sorry about earlier. And not just today, but all the other stupid stuff over the last few weeks. All of it. I'm sorry."

Randy regarded him a long moment, his steely face impassive and unreadable. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Dean shrugged. "I'm here, ain't I?"

"Yeah, Dean. You're definitely here." Randy pushed the door open wider and stepped inside. His gaze never wavered from Dean's. "You want a beer?"

Dean stiffened at the question. Randy was inviting him inside. For beer.

 _Whoa, one step at a time._

Even though Randy _might_ no longer be his enemy it didn't mean he wanted to suddenly become drinking buddies with the guy. But still, it was free beer. He hardly ever turned down an invitation for free beer.

"It's ice cold," Randy said. That was the icing on the proverbial cake, right there.

 _Sold._ Who was he to turn down free, refrigerated beer? Dean put on his most sarcastic smile. "Why not?" He dragged his things inside and shut the door behind him.

The room was clean and warm. The vague scent of peppermint smoke lingered in the air, as if Randy had been vaping not long ago.

Randy noticed Dean's sniffing and nodded towards the e-cigarette on top of the desk. "I'm trying to quit."

"Me, too."

While Randy left to retrieve their drinks, Dean sat down on the couch. He dropped his bags at his feet. The TV was on. Sports news.

Randy returned in time for the highlight reels of some of the day's games. He pressed the cold bottle against Dean's cheek. "Here you go."

Dean hesitantly took the bottle. "Thanks," he mumbled. Randy didn't move to sit down beside him on the couch, which was good. Dean might have jumped up and bailed if he had. He uncapped the beverage and took one of the longest swigs he'd ever taken. The sudden rush of frigid alcohol into his body made his head fuzzy. Also good. If he didn't recall this night tomorrow morning, he'd be ecstatic. When most of the beer had been drained, Dean finally pulled the bottle from his lips. He turned ever so slightly to catch Randy smiling, almost holding back laughter, it seemed. He hadn't even opened his drink yet. Dean glanced back at the hi-def screen. "You a Rams fan?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, for sure. Hometown team and all."

Dean grinned. "Season's not looking too good for them." He knew he was intentionally provoking Randy, but he could never seem to help himself.

"Maybe not. But I suggest you focus on Andy Dalton's health. Cincinnati's done for without him."

"Nah, we'll be good. Don't worry."

"We'll see, Dean."

And that was that. There was no more conversation while they looked at the highlight reels and the snippets of press conferences. They watched the hosts predict next week's games and even address the issues of Deflate-gate.

Dean had finished his first beer some time ago, and Randy had handed him another. The guy, himself, still wasn't drinking. As commercials rolled on, Dean stared at the ceiling, his mind pandering him with thoughts of Randy and Roman and everything he'd gone through with both men in the last few weeks. "Why do you like Roman?"

As Randy sucked in a deep breath, Dean finally faced the older male. He didn't feel bad about prying. Randy had made it all but clear he was into Roman, so why not ask why? Why not try to get into Randy's head while they were being civil?

Randy's gaze zoned in on him, but the way he rubbed his chin and bit the inside of his cheeks, he was clearly deep in thought.

Dean egged him on. "You only like him 'cuz he's hot, right? I mean, that's the way it's always been. Everyone wants to fuck Ro because he's got good looks. Because he's athletic and cool. No one cared to know that he was the biggest dork they'd probably ever meet. That they'd be disappointed once they saw he didn't quite meet their expectations. Nope. They all wanted to sleep with him. The great Roman Reigns."

"Even you?" Randy asked.

"Yes, even me, all right?" Dean slammed the bottle down onto the table as he glared daggers at Randy. "Is that what you wanted to hear? I want to fuck my best friend. Are you satisfied?"

Randy shrugged. "And you never told him? I thought he was your boy."

Yeah, right. Like it would be _so_ easy to just go up to Roman and tell him how he felt. How he's always felt, and hope that things between them could possibly remain the same. 'Cuz they wouldn't get better. Not with that kind of confession. Only bad things could follow something like that.

Dean finished half of his second beer. Already he was being consumed by that familiar, warm tingling in the pit of his empty gut. "So why do you like Ro?"

Randy shook his head with a smile. "I never said I liked Reigns."

Dean frowned. Never said? "Yeah, 'cuz I'm pretty sure you made that clear as hell since the beginning."

"I said I was interested in the guy, if you recall. And like a lot of things, interests don't hold your attention too long."

Dean ignored the lascivious look Randy threw his way. He didn't even want to think about the fact they were all alone in Randy's hotel room. "Keep deluding yourself."

Randy was suddenly leaning against the back of the sofa. His hands were on either side of where Dean's head rested against the plush cushion. Warmth radiated from his close-proximity body. "I only like one person, Dean. Just so happens that I kissed him tonight."

Dean stared at the television, watching the hosts' mouths move, but not hearing a damn thing they said. Randy might as well have dropped a bomb on his head with that one. It instantly dredged up the earlier memory of Randy kissing him, again, outside of McDonald's. It'd been a risky move. Hell, they'd almost gotten caught by Seth. Would Randy have risked his reputation if he were lying?

Dean shook his head. Nope. He was _not_ going there. "I'm leaving once I finish my beer."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 12**

Dean woke up as rays of sunlight hit him in the face. With a groan, he peeled open his eyes and stared outside the window. The curtains were open, letting in what little sunlight they still had in the middle of winter. The scent of bacon, eggs, and fruit-flavored pancakes filled his senses. His mouth instantly watered. His stomach growled in response.

Dean sat up a moment before realizing where he still was. Randy's hotel room. He'd been asleep on the couch. "Fuck." As he raked a hand through his messy locks, Dean racked his brain for memories of last night. He remembered knocking on Randy's door and being invited inside for beers. Outside of a few snippets of conversation, Dean didn't remember much. The more he tried, the more his head throbbed in protest.

"You're awake."

Dean glanced up at Randy, dressed in his gym gear and holding a cup of coffee out to Dean. "Is it poisoned?"

Randy chuckled. "I didn't find any at the local apothecary, so I'll guess you'll have to make due with plain old coffee."

Dean took the warm cup and palmed it between his hands. His gaze shuffled around the room, never lingering on any one spot for longer than a second or two.

Randy continued, "I ordered breakfast, just so you know. There's all kinds of stuff, so I'm sure you'll find something you like. I put your bags in the closet. Shower's through the bedroom if you want to clean up."

Okay, this was getting too weird...

Dean threw the blanket off and stood, making sure to avoid eye contact with Randy. "I appreciate it, but I'm good. I'm gonna head to my own room now." He should have left last night. Not bothering with the coffee, Dean put on his shoes and retrieved his luggage from Randy's closet. He headed for the door.

"Dean," Randy called after him.

"What?" Dean snapped. This whole situation was irritating. No way in hell he should be waking up in the guy's hotel room with barely any memories of the previous night.

Randy smiled like Dean was amusing and crazy at the same time. He inclined his head toward the lamp table where Dean's phone sat. "You're forgetting something."

Dean hesitated a moment before he walked over, brushing past Randy as he took his phone and pocketed it.

"It's been ringing all morning," Randy said. "I think your boys were trying to meet up with you earlier."

Dean turned around to face the smug prick. "For the record, I don't need you trying to take care of me. Nothing happened between us."

"You sure about that?"

Dean stared into Randy's conceited face. He clenched his fists at his side, wanting to punch his lights out. "Don't make me regret this little peace treaty of ours."

"Knowing you, Dean, you probably already are."

"You don't know me, Randy. You think you do, and you don't. That's what pisses me off about you."

"Then—" Randy stepped about six inches closer, almost closing the distance between them. "How about you let me get to know you?"

Dean took a step back, bewildered by Orton's actions. What the hell was he up to? He jabbed a finger into Randy's chest, keeping the guy from coming any closer. "No thanks. Besides, I'm not interested."

"Oh, but you will be. Just wait and see."

* * *

Dean showered and dressed in his own hotel room after leaving Randy's. As he made his way down to the lobby, he thought of Randy's parting words. They bothered him. He'd been so speechless that the only thing he could think to do was turn around and leave.

It was either that or get into a war of words guaranteed to ruin his progress.

Dean stepped outside into the crisp, cool air. It was a sunny day in El Paso, and people seemed to be taking advantage of it. Dean palmed his water bottle and headed for his rental. Seth had found a CrossFit gym nearby he'd wanted to work out at before tonight's show. He was supposed to have met up with them twenty minutes ago.

It was only a ten minute drive once he programmed the address into his GPS. Dean pulled off his sunglasses as he entered the converted space. Grunts and the sound of clanging iron and hip-hop music blasted from all four corners. The scent of sweat, rubber, and cleaning agents floated through the atmosphere.

"Push. Push. Harder, man. You got this."

Dean spotted Seth and Roman in their own corner of the gym. Roman was literally sweating through his Tapout t-shirt, clenching his teeth in agony—the only kind given by a hard workout—as he did overhead squats. There were at least two hundred and fifty pounds on the bar.

"That's what I'm talking about," Seth cheered. He was shirtless with a fine sheen of sweat covering his upper body and face. As Roman dropped the bar, Seth clapped him on the back. "You're a beast, man."

Dean went over to them. He was a little relieved to see Randy wasn't around. "What's up, guys?"

Roman met his gaze while he worked on slowing down his heart rate. His skin was flushed with perspiration, and his eyes popped even more because of it.

Seth mopped his face up with a rag. "About time you joined us. You didn't hear us knocking or calling you earlier?"

Dean shrugged. "I must have been more tired than I thought." He refused to tell them he'd fallen asleep at Randy's. "Didn't help I had a couple cold ones, either." He pulled off his jacket and prepared to stretch and warm-up.

"Are you hungover?" Seth demanded.

Dean rolled his eyes. "No, mom," he lied. Seth wouldn't notice anyway, since how he looked drunk wasn't too far off from how he normally looked.

Seth readied the bar for another set of reps. "How did things go with Randy last night?"

Before Dean could respond, he caught Roman's curious, startled look. "You went to see Randy last night?"

Fuck, Dean had forgotten he'd asked Seth for his help. "Yeah, I—"

"He went by to apologize, Ro," Seth interrupted. "He asked for my help and everything. You would've been so proud."

Roman folded his arms across his massive chest. "You had beers with Randy last night?"

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He studied Roman's inquisitive expression, his gaze almost penetrating right through him. Nothing had happened between him and Randy last night, but that didn't stop him from feeling like a man who'd been caught cheating. Crazy as it sounded.

Dean scratched his head. "Well, yeah. Like Seth said, I went to apologize. Randy offered me a few beers. Kinda like a truce thing."

"I see," Roman replied.

"But it was all because of you, Ro," Dean added. "I thought about what you said. Figured it was time for me to man up."

Roman broke out into a smile at that. "No, it's all good, Dean. Hell, I _am_ proud of you. I know it must have been hard."

Dean breathed out a sigh of relief. "You have no fucking clue, man. It ain't perfect, but it's a start, know what I'm saying?"

Roman chuckled. "So that's all I gotta do to get you to listen to me, huh? Threaten not to sleep in the same room as you."

Dean froze at his words. They weren't meant to be taken seriously. Dean knew that. But he couldn't help the sudden surge of anger coursing through him, ready to burst all over the raven-haired Samoan. He walked off before he said something he'd regret.

"Dean," Roman called after him. "Come on, it was a joke."

Dean spun around to face him. "I'm not laughing, Roman."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it."

"Do you really believe that?"

Roman gave him an incredulous look. "Of course not. You know I didn't mean anything by it, Dean."

"Sure you didn't." Dean was disgusted by the thought of Roman _actually_ believing he could control Dean's actions with a reward of some sort. Like he was a damn dog.

As if sensing the rising tension, Seth reappeared at their side. "Come on, guys. The gym's for working out, not chatting away like two old maids. So let's work out."

"Nah," Dean replied. "I think I'll go elsewhere." Dean headed for the exit, ignoring Seth's and Roman's pleas for him to come back. To be reasonable.

Fuck that.

He couldn't take that kind of disrespect. Not even from a man he considered his best friend. Joke or not, he couldn't stand it. Especially since he would do anything short of gelding himself for Roman. And all just to have his attention.

Dean hopped into his rental and sped off from the gym. He'd passed by a park on the way, so he would go there. He preferred being outdoors anyway.

As Dean drove the desert-like streets, the mountains in his view, he thought of why he wanted to please Roman so much. Recognition, sure. But more than that, he wanted the guy to notice him... to see him in a way beyond friendship. He practically _was_ a dog, wagging its tail and doing tricks so Roman would like him. So he'd want to be around him.

Dean raked a hand over his scratchy jaw. He stared straight ahead, ignoring the choking sensation in his throat. Emotions flooded him. The major one was a profound sadness.

Roman would never know him as anything other than a friend. A brother. A pet he fed bits and pieces of himself to to keep him under control.

Dean got out at Memorial Park. The park was vast, green, and filled with hills and trees which would be perfect for trail running. There weren't many people around, so it was also serene. The kind of atmosphere he craved in the Nevada desert. The kind that would clear his head.

Dean went straight into a jog, deftly avoiding the rocks and fallen sticks in his path. A warm breeze ghosted over his skin as he whizzed by trees and up grassy hills, Third Realm blasting from his iPod into his ears. The scent of pine and nature filled his senses. He picked up speed. He wanted his body to hurt.

Twenty minutes into his run, Dean was covered in sweat. The sun was beaming down on his bare torso. Up ahead, Dean spotted a bridge a few yards away. He approached, intending to stop for water. A familiar lone figure was leaning against it, obviously with the same thought in mind.

Dean squinted his eyes to get a better look. He gaped in disbelief. Randy Orton was there.

Randy was also covered in sweat. Without even bothering to take off his muscle shirt, he emptied the remainder of his water bottle on his head, letting the droplets drip onto his skin and clothes in an attempt to cool down.

Dean inwardly cursed. "You've gotta be kidding me." Maybe if he turned around and ran off in the opposite direction, maybe Randy wouldn't notice. Truth be told, he didn't feel like dealing with the guy right now.

"Ambrose? Is that you?"

Shit.

Randy waved him over. It was too late to run off now.

Dean walked over. Not like he wasn't used to dealing with crap anyway. That, he'd been dealt his entire life, in spades.

Randy's smile widened as he came into view. "Thought that was you."

"The one and only." Dean wiped sweat from his face with his t-shirt. "What are you doing out here anyway?"

"It's a beautiful day in El Paso. Thought it'd be better to trail run out here than on a treadmill in a stuffy gym. I'm guessing you had the same thought?"

"Not exactly." He _did_ prefer outdoors any day to being confined in a gym, but he would have stayed had Roman not made such an offhanded comment.

"Well, whatever brought you out here, I'm kinda glad it did." Randy patted his back. "It's good seeing you out here alone like this. Almost feels like fate."

Dean frowned. "Fate? I think you need to step back two notches and try again."

Randy shrugged. "Just going for honesty. No need to get upset."

"Let me make this clear since you're not getting it." Dean stepped into the taller male's face. Besides that amused smirk Dean was getting tired of, Randy didn't seem fazed by his nearness at all. Instead, he eyed Dean up like a starving man eyeing a juicy steak. Dean continued, "You and me, we're never gonna happen."

"You think so?"

Dean smirked. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure I do."

Randy mirrored his expression. "Well, I just have one question for you, Dean."

Dean really didn't want to know what it was. But curiosity got the better of him, like usual. "What's that, Randy?"

"When was the last time you had sex?"

Dean sputtered. "Excuse me?"

"I'm just saying, you were pretty wound up after our scuffle in the parking lot last night." Randy's eyes dropped to Dean's crotch, probably looking to see if he was hard now to emphasize his point. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Dean's cheeks burned with embarrassment. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten laid. "Screw you, Orton." Dean turned to walk off, but Randy stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Fighting aside, Dean, you and I are both men with needs." Randy's grip on his shoulder loosened. He massaged the tense muscles without even seeming to notice what he was doing.

Dean tensed even more at his touch. What in the hell was he doing?

Randy continued, "I don't know about you, but when the mood arises, I don't like to hold back. If you catch my meaning."

Dean slid out of Randy's grasp. He took a step back, out of reach, and folded his arms loosely across his sweaty chest. "I don't catch your meaning, I'm afraid, so you're gonna have to elaborate. Just what exactly are you trying to say?"

Randy licked his lips. The hair on Dean's arms bristled at the suggestiveness of the action paired with Randy's sultry blue eyes locked on him.

"What I'm saying is, you should visit me at my hotel room sometimes. We can help one another satisfy those needs."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Wow, I can't tell you how awesome you guys are. Thanks so much for all the comments and love. I honestly didn't expect this. You guys' comments really make my day! Enjoy~**

 **Chapter 13**

"My body hurts, but I don't care 'cuz I'm in the city of Rhythm and Blues, baby," Dean sang aloud.

A week had passed since the whole El Paso debacle, and things had returned to normal. Well, almost normal. Dean had been sleeping alone in hotels since that night. After Roman's words, he still couldn't bring himself to room with the guy. A few times, he'd roomed with Seth when he really didn't want to be alone. But Seth wasn't like Roman. He easily got annoyed at Dean's attempts to keep him up late, talking or watching movies, or whatever.

Not like Dean could help he had trouble sleeping sometimes.

But despite all that, he and Roman fell back into their usual routine. It was good times again.

They'd just finished a live show at the FedEx Forum in downtown Memphis, and now they were headed to a bar.

Roman was driving again, the smooth operator of the trio. Dean sat beside him in the passenger seat, while Seth sat in the back.

"Memphis fans are buck wild," Roman commented with a smile.

"They're not quite as crazy as the Chicago fans, but if I had to have a top five, they'd be in it," Seth added.

Dean continued singing, "Home of Elvis and the best barbecue in America."

Roman laughed at him. "And soul food."

"Southern hospitality," Seth added with a mock Southern accent.

At a red light, Roman nudged Dean.

Dean faced him. "What was that for?"

"Nothing." Roman shook his head. "You're a nut."

"What kind of nut? Because Dean Ambrose can't be just any kind of nut. I might be partial to walnuts, but I hate pine nuts."

Seth laughed. "Dean Ambrose, the walnut. Sounds retarded."

"Seth Rollins, the soybean, the lamest of them all."

Seth scoffed. "A soybean isn't a nut." He pulled out his phone to look it up.

"Go ahead and Google it, or whatever it's called. A soybean is definitely a nut."

Roman shook his head. "I swear being around you two is like raising teenagers."

Dean grinned at him. "Ro, you'd be an almond."

Roman made a left turn at Siri's command, his eyes glued to the road. "Why almond?"

"Because..." Dean paused as he tried to think of the best way to describe it. "Like an almond, you can be bitter or sweet, but either way you're good for me." Dean licked his lips as Roman glanced his way, his expression serious. Maybe it came out weird? It probably confused the hell out of him, but it made perfect sense to Dean.

Seth broke the silence in the car. "Aww, Dean, you sap." He laughed. "Get it? Tree sap?"

"Yep, Seth, we got it," Roman replied. He turned away to focus on the road.

Dean sank down into his seat, inwardly cursing himself for making strange nonsensical comments. Again. Roman would probably suspect something. He faced the window when he felt Roman's strong hand on his knee.

Dean looked down at it before staring at Roman's face for some kind of expression. He didn't move, let alone breathe. The heat from Roman's palm radiated through his leg, as if the jeans he wore wasn't even there.

Roman briefly smiled at him. "Almond. I kind of like it."

Dean didn't know what to say. He cleared his throat and angled his face in Seth's direction. "You look it up yet?"

"Yes," Seth grumbled, refusing to meet his gaze.

Dean gave him a lopsided smile. "And I'm right, aren't I?"

Seth huffed. "Screw you, Dean. I'm not a damn soybean, either."

Dean couldn't help laughing at that. "We're in the city of Rhythm and Blues, baby!"

They arrived at the Madison Hotel a few minutes later. After parking, the three of them walked inside together, cracking jokes and talking about wrestling. Roman threw his arm around Dean's shoulder. His body was warm from the fleece-lined coat he wore, and his hair tickled Dean's face.

Dean needed a drink. Fast.

It wasn't long before they were given menus and seated. A blonde woman wearing too much makeup approached them. "I'm Tiffany, and I'll be serving you tonight. What can I get for y'all?"

Roman peered up from the menu. "What's in the Eye of the Tiger?"

"Blue curacao, vanilla vodka, spiced rum, and ginger ale."

"That actually sounds good. I'll take it."

Seth sneered at him. "I thought you were the DD?"

"Oh, I am. One drink won't impair me."

Tiffany grinned at Roman. "You a Tigers fan?"

"No, ma'am. I don't get a lot of time to watch sports."

"Oh, I see. Well even if you aren't a Tigers fan, people still like this drink." Tiffany glimpsed between Seth and Dean. "Are y'all ready to order too?"

Seth gave the waitress a flirty smile. "What do you recommend?"

Tiffany didn't even hesitate. "Oh the Big Red, for sure. It's kinda like a bourbon Manhattan, with apple whisky, spiced bourbon, and a little cranberry juice. It's delicious."

"Sold," Seth exclaimed with a grin.

"I want a Hotty Toddy," Dean said in a sing-song voice.

Tiffany smiled. "Coming up. I'll be back with your drinks."

After she left, Dean drummed his fingers on the table and glanced around the bar. It had a cool vibe, with a patio overlooking downtown, and weird, New Age-esque paintings on the walls. Low jazz music played from a speaker throughout the bar.

Roman leafed through the menu. "I'm starving, guys. You think the steak here is any good?"

"I think you'll eat it anyway," Dean joked.

"Yeah, right. You know I don't play about my food. Least of all, my steaks."

Dean grinned. "I know, big guy."

Tiffany returned with a tray of their cocktails and a basket of fried shrimp.

Roman eyeballed the seafood. "We didn't order this."

"Compliments of the house. They're shrimp beignets, and they are fried in funnel cake batter. Perfect drinking snack, if you ask me. Y'all enjoy. I'll be back to take your food orders momentarily."

They thanked her as she left. Seth shook his head. "You know in my experience, women don't give you free food for no reason. I don't know, it could be poisoned."

Roman lifted a fat, fried shrimp up by the tail. He held it to Dean's lips, a faux scared look on his mug. "You try it first."

Dean gave him an incredulous look. "Why me?"

"Because you're a tough son of a bitch who would kick poison's ass," Seth answered.

Roman shrugged. "What he said."

Dean didn't bother glancing at the thing being dangled in front of his mouth. He locked eyes with Roman, wondering if his friend realized what he was about to do. How intimate it was. Maybe in other cultures, it was okay for guy friends to feed each other, but they were Americans. Stuff like that wasn't done without some kind of special meaning behind it. And it was almost always met with ridicule.

Seth wouldn't hesitate to ridicule the shit out of them.

Dean took the entire shrimp into his mouth, his gaze never wavering from Roman's as he did so. Roman didn't look away, either. Instead, he smiled, and it wasn't a mocking smile either. Dean felt uneasy.

"Is it good?" Roman asked.

Dean nodded. He took a swallow of his drink and frowned. "This tastes like that Red Hot candy, but in liquid form. You guys know what I'm talking about?"

"Let me try." Without even waiting for permission, Roman slid Dean's drink over and sipped from his straw.

Dean arched a brow, even though his stomach was doing cartwheels. It wasn't the first time they'd drunk off of one another, but holy shit...

Something weird was going on with Roman today.

"It does kinda taste like it." Roman took another sip. "A hint of tea." Sip. "Lots of honey and lemon." Sip. "It's warm." Sip. "I'm pretty sure it's Jack Daniels."

Dean snatched his Hotty Toddy back from him. "Don't drink it all."

Roman gave him that innocent smile as he sipped from his own clear-blue drink. "Who me?"

Dean shook his head in feigned exasperation. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

It was Jack Daniels.

Tiffany had told them after they'd bugged her to come over and explain. It was Jack Daniels' "Tennessee Fire" to be exact.

Dean slumped into his seat. He didn't know how long they'd been at the bar, but he'd shot past sober about a half-hour ago. All of them had.

Seth, the lightweight, was groaning and complaining about his stomach pains. Roman finished off the last of his steak frites with a satisfied moan. Dean watched the way the fork slid out of Roman's mouth, slow and sensuously. He shifted in his seat as his cock hardened at the tempting sight.

Roman smiled at him, obviously catching him staring. "What? I got something on my face?"

Dean leaned forward. "Yeah, you got a little something right here." As Roman leaned closer, Dean flicked him on his nose. He burst into laughter at the bewildered expression on his friend's face.

Roman pulled him into a headlock, burying him in his natural scent of spicy musk mingled with his favorite Old Spice. Damn, he smelled good. Dean wouldn't mind being wrapped around that every night.

Dean pushed his body weight forward and into Roman. Though Roman tried to keep them upright, it didn't work in his current state. They fell onto the floor in a tangled heap. Roman chuffed as Dean landed on top of him.

"Will you two stop embarrassing me?" Seth groaned.

They ignored him.

Roman stretched his arms out and went lax. "All right, I give up. Now get off, you're heavy."

Dean stared into those steel-colored eyes. Even though they were in a bar, he forgot everything around them. All he saw was Roman. All he felt was Roman's hard, chiseled body beneath him. All he wanted to do was take Roman right then and there. Dean wanted to claim him, and his body was more than ready to. "You sure you want me to get up?"

Roman frowned. "What kind of question is that?" He tried to push Dean off him, but Dean used the strength advantage he had to keep the bigger man pinned down.

Dean smirked. "I don't know, Ro, but you look really cozy down there."

"What if I said I was?"

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His throat had gone dry like the Sahara. Meanwhile, Roman's eyelids were half-mast. He licked his lips and watched Dean with an expression Dean could only guess was his imagination playing tricks on him.

Roman looked at him like he wanted him too. It was totally, completely impossible.

Dean coughed. Cleared his throat. "Ro." His voice was husky.

Roman broke out into laughter. "Come on, I'm kidding. You should see the look on your face right now." He punched Dean's shoulder. "I got you good."

"I don't know where y'all are from, but there is no horse playing here. Not in my bar." Tiffany.

Dean shot to his feet. He didn't even bother helping Roman up. Tiffany was staring holes into them. Dean gave her a sheepish smile. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Yeah, sorry," Roman added.

They took their seats. Seth shook his head at both of them. "At least wait until we're back at the hotel before you get it on—"

Dean kicked him beneath the table.

"Ow! What the hell?"

Roman threw a wadded up napkin at him. "Shut up, Seth."

Tiffany rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling at their antics. "Can I get y'all some dessert?"

"Could we get a few beers?" Dean needed to be really drunk if he wanted to function normally again. Stupid as it was, he'd kinda gotten his hopes up in that moment, thinking Roman _actually_ had feelings for him, too.

What a letdown.

Tiffany raised a brow. "You don't think you're drunk enough?"

"Not nearly."

"You know I can refuse to serve alcohol to customers _I_ think is drunk enough."

Roman patted Dean's thigh. Dean closed his eyes and breathed. He swore he was gonna lose his mind if Roman touched him again. "Can we get a round of coffee?" Roman interceded.

"Sure thing, hon."

Dean made a face. He didn't want coffee right now, but he'd go along with it. "Can you make mine an espresso?"

Tiffany nodded. "He's the difficult one of the group, isn't he?"

Seth glared at Dean. "You have no idea."

"Love you too, Sethie."

Tiffany left them alone again. Dean swayed softly to the R & B song playing in the background. He had no clue who it was, but it was nice.

"Guys, there's something I gotta tell you."

Dean and Roman glanced at Seth, though Dean didn't stop swaying.

"I kinda have a thing for someone."

Dean perked at that. Roman's eyes widened. "Really? Who? Do we know her?"

"You mean to tell me that Seth Rollins actually wants to go monogamous with someone?" Dean asked with a grin.

"Ha ha, you're not funny." Seth sighed. "It's Sasha."

Roman arched a brow. "Sasha. As in, Sasha Banks?"

"Yeah. Sasha Banks. The Boss."

Dean and Roman gazed at each other, both giving nods of approval. "I can see the appeal," Dean said. "She seems really cool."

"Yeah, she really does." Seth's eyes glossed over as if he were lost in thoughts of the fiery redhead. "I should ask her out, right? I mean, that's what you guys would do, right?"

Dean didn't say anything. Couldn't. He still hadn't told Roman how he felt, so he wasn't qualified to answer.

Roman pointed at Seth. "You should do whatever your little heart desires, Seth."

Dean laughed at the playfulness in his tone.

"Hey. Can I buy you a drink?"

The three of them turned at the sound of a husky, feminine voice to face a beautiful African-American woman standing beside their table. She was pretty tall and definitely leggy in a short, red dress, nude pantyhose, and spiked heels. The woman was beautiful, slim, with long brown hair worn in a curly coif down her back. Her hazel eyes were locked on Roman.

Of course.

Roman checked her out, drinking her all in. From the look on his face, he was impressed. She was Roman's type, for sure.

"Don't worry, I'm good for it," she added.

Dean thought he was going to be sick. Blatant lust oozed from her voice.

Roman smiled. "Sorry, doll. I'm done drinking for tonight."

"Really? That's too bad."

Dean smiled inwardly. Good. Roman wasn't interested. So she could go on her merry way, and they could have their coffees in peace.

"But, we could still talk, if that's okay."

Dean gawked at Roman. Roman, who was studiously ignoring him while he ogled her.

The woman's face lit up. "That's definitely okay. I'm Shonda, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Shonda. I'm Roman. These are my brothers, Dean and Seth."

Shonda smiled at them all. "Hi, guys. I hope you don't mind me kidnapping Roman for a little while. Don't worry, I'll take good care of him."

Dean snorted. "You do know kidnapping's a crime in all fifty states, don't you?"

Everyone looked at him. Shonda appeared to be trying to guess whether he was serious or not. Roman laughed first, breaking the tension. "Don't mind Dean. He's got a weird sense of humor."

"Oh. Okay. Anyway, I'm over here. Come on."

As Roman took her hand and walked off, Dean stared after them, trying his hardest to suppress the emotions threatening to creep out of him. Namely jealousy.

Tiffany returned then with their coffees and his espresso. "Where'd the other one go?"

Seth grinned like the Cheshire cat. "Over there with the hottie in red."

Dean rolled his eyes. He put the cup to his lips and drank. The bitter drink burned his tongue, but he didn't care. He peered in the direction Shonda had taken Roman to. They were sitting together, laughing, in animated conversation. Even drunk, Roman was charming. Outgoing. More daring.

Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He didn't know why he was jealous. Roman had already told him he wasn't into guys. And he didn't know about Dean's feelings, either. He didn't know that walking off with that chick was hurting him.

"Seth, you got any cash on you?"

Seth frowned. "Yeah. Why?"

"I'm gonna catch a cab back to the hotel."

* * *

Back at the hotel, Dean couldn't sleep.

His mind kept racing with thoughts of Roman and Shonda. Earlier, Seth had text him that Roman had left the bar with Shonda. He'd been proud that Roman was gonna get laid after all this time.

Dean's stomach had churned. He'd rushed to the bathroom to throw up. Too much alcohol or his emotions? He didn't know. Didn't care.

It was too dark and too quiet, only the hum of the unit blowing warm air keeping him company. He didn't like this.

Reaching for his cellphone on the nightstand, Dean dialed up Seth. Maybe they could watch movies together or something until Dean fell asleep. There was no answer.

Dean huffed. He dialed Cesaro, another friend and training buddy of theirs. Dean had met Cesaro on the indie scene where they'd beaten the living hell out of each other. They'd been good friends since. Dean waited after the third ring. Fourth ring. No answer.

He pulled at his hair in frustration. His only other option was Roman, and no way in hell was he going there. If Roman didn't pick up his phone either, that would only make things worse.

Unable to take being alone anymore, Dean hopped out of bed and left the room. Seth's hotel room was just across the hall from his. He walked over and knocked on the door. "Seth, you in there? It's Dean. Open up." Nothing. Not even a peep. The door was locked and the lights were out.

Dean moved next door to Roman's. His heart pounded. Instead of knocking, Dean put his ear to the door and listened. Nothing here either. Lights out. Quiet. A part of Dean was relieved that Roman hadn't brought the chick back to his hotel room. But he also realized it meant Roman could be with her at her place.

Dean moved along. He boarded the elevator and without even thinking about it, he pushed the button for the lobby. As the metal box went down, Dean pressed the back of his head against the cold wall. He really didn't want to do this, but he needed something to take his mind off of his feelings and the pangs in his chest.

The doors slid open and Dean stepped out. The lobby was mostly empty at this time of night. Only a tired looking man stood behind the front desk, thumbing through a magazine. Dean approached him. The young man glanced up, and his cheeks instantly turned red. He put away the magazine, but not before Dean caught a glance of the front cover. A muscled man in boxers and the big words "OUT" above his head.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Yeah." Dean hesitated. He only hoped he wasn't making a huge mistake. "Could you ring up Randy Orton's room for me? I'm a friend."

* * *

 **A/N: Oh no... what's gonna happen when Dean meets up with Randy again? Find out on the next episode (chapter)! lol!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Guys, thanks for all the comments and love for my story! You have no idea how much I appreciate it. I usually don't do this, but I want to address Grumpy's comment and explain something to all. Based on my summary, I can see how the story's current direction could seem confusing and like an entire plot change has happened. But I assure you, the story was always meant to turn out like this. I deliberately wrote the summary like that because I didn't want to give away too much. It's what happens in the beginning chapters anyway, and I didn't want anyone figuring out what would go down next. I also never stated that this was an Ambreigns fic, or even a Rambrose fic. I want this story to be as realistic-seeming as possible, and as far as realism goes, you guys know that things don't often go as planned. People don't always do what you expect them to do. But I ask that you all continue to bear with me. Things will come to a head, and start to make more sense. Thanks! And enjoy!**

 **Chapter 14**

Dean paced outside of Randy's hotel room. He honestly didn't want to do this, but his only alternative was going back to the loneliness of his own room. Well, he could always go down to the bar and drink alone, but that was even more pathetic. Besides, he didn't feel like being social. Someone was bound to recognize him and ask for a picture or autograph, and Dean would be in big trouble for telling a fan to fuck off.

He slumped against the wall and stared at the lighting fixtures, but he didn't really see them. Roman and Shonda filled his mind. Toxic images of the two of them naked in bed together, Roman pumping into her body with all the stamina he possessed. Dean wanted to gouge his eyes out.

"I need a cigarette."

"Dean."

Dean closed his eyes. He didn't have to look to know whose voice that was. "Orton."

"I've been watching you pace outside my room for the last five minutes. Are you coming in or not? Or maybe you changed your mind? It's okay if you got cold feet. I won't judge you."

Dean glared at him. Seeing the amusement and arrogance on his face pissed Dean off. Pushing himself off the wall, Dean shoved his shoulder into Randy's as he entered his room.

Randy chuckled. He closed the door and locked it. Before he could turn around, Dean pushed him against it, pinning him in place with his strength. Though Randy groaned as if his face hurt from the impact, Dean didn't care.

"You got what you wanted, Orton. Is that why you're so damn amused? Because there ain't shit funny from where I'm standing," he spat.

Despite being capable of fighting off Dean's hold, Randy remained unnervingly calm. "Look, we can talk. All right? Let me go, and we'll grab a few beers and talk."

Screw that.

Dean had absolutely nothing to say to the guy. They might be getting along somewhat now, but Dean was _not_ ready to spill his secrets to him. Dean did back off though. As Randy faced him, Dean studied his features. He'd never really noticed how attractive Randy actually was. Yeah, he'd always known he was a "handsome guy" popular with all the ladies, but he'd never really took him in.

Randy was tall and had an incredible body, which he had no problem showing off in a wife beater and gym shorts. His tattoos were stunning. A little too much going on, but they looked nice covering up his muscled arms. Randy's dark tan made his narrow blue eyes pop.

A surge of lust went through Dean as he examined his high-cheekboned face and sensuous mouth. Orton was pretty hot. He could do this.

Randy licked his lips. It was on.

Dean kissed him hard. He thrust his tongue into Randy's mouth, tasting him, moaning into him as Randy's hands slid across his body, setting him on fire. Dean pulled away long enough to take off his shirt. Randy did the same, revealing muscled pecs and tight abs.

Dean let himself drink in the sight of Randy. He wanted to get lost in the older male so nothing else could penetrate his mind.

Randy grinned lecherously. "Like what you see?" He closed the space between them. "I know I do."

"I'm flattered," Dean drawled. He led Randy to the couch and pushed him onto it. "Now shut up for five minutes."

Randy's eyes widened slightly at that, but he only smiled. "Fine, Dean." He pulled Dean down on top of him, crushing their lips together again.

Dean went with it. He lowered his body onto Randy's, groaning as his hips made contact with Randy's erection. The man was _not_ wearing any underwear beneath the thin gym shorts.

"Like that?"

Dean's cock twitched with arousal. All of it—the feel of Randy's hard body, the bittersweet taste of his lips, that delicious fucking scent of his—was turning Dean on, more than he'd expected it to. He'd figured he'd get it on with Randy and leave, no feelings, no real attraction. Just a mutual need to scratch an itch.

But now, staring into his lust-filled eyes, he wanted Randy more than he cared to admit.

Randy cupped Dean's ass in his large hands and massaged him. He ground his erection against his hips.

"Fuck," Dean breathed.

"Yeah, let's."

Dean's stomach fluttered as Randy moved to the front of his jeans, undoing the button and sliding down the zipper, loud in the silence. Randy's hand disappeared inside. Dean sucked in a deep breath. It was becoming too much.

Randy took hold of his cock and stroked it. "Relax, Dean. I'm not doing anything you don't want me to."

Dean gripped Randy's wrist, halting the man's movements. "No, stop."

"What's wrong now?"

He could tell Randy was getting a little impatient, but he didn't really care. In fact, a part of him enjoyed seeing the guy worked up. "Angle's all wrong." Dean separated himself from Randy's heated body. "Besides, I like it better when I don't have to look at your face."

Randy arched a brow. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Dean didn't give the Viper a chance to respond. He flipped Randy onto his stomach and pinned his arms above his head on the armrest of the sofa. He preferred it this way. He didn't have to look at Randy's smug expression. Didn't have to be reminded that he'd caved into his pseudo-enemy's wishes for this physical union of theirs. Like this, he could pretend Randy was some nameless, faceless hole for him to fill his loneliness and anger in.

Granted the guy didn't piss him off too much with his mouth.

Dean stretched his body over Randy's. He pressed his lips to Randy's ear. "Don't speak," he whispered. "Don't say a single word. If you do, I'll happily rip out your vocal chords." He pressed his teeth in the flesh at the hollow of Randy's throat for emphasis.

Randy shuddered beneath him. "Jesus."

Dean grinned. He'd let that one slide. "Just so we're clear." He released his tight hold on Randy's wrists, noticing the imprints he'd left. A swell of pride filled his chest. He'd forgotten how gratifying it was to leave marks during sex. Dean smoothed his hands down Randy's backside.

Surprisingly, Randy wasn't tense at all. He was completely relaxed and ready for whatever Dean wanted to do to him. His soft pants were the only sound he made.

Dean gripped the waistband of Randy's shorts. He slid the fabric down only a few inches when his cell phone buzzed in his back pocket. Deftones' "Beauty School" filled the silence. Laura. Dean blinked twice, snapping out of whatever sexually-charged haze he was in. He sat up.

Randy got up as well. He frowned at Dean. "You're not gonna answer that, are you?"

Dean didn't respond. He moved from the couch to get his shirt.

"So you're done. Is that it?"

"Look, man. I don't even know why I came here in the first place." He pulled his shirt over his head and smoothed it down, avoiding eye contact with Randy. Though the guy was staring daggers into him.

Randy snorted. "You and I both know that's a lie."

"I ain't interested in you, Orton."

"Sure about that?"

"Yeah," Dean snapped. He glared at the irritating man. "So you can wipe that stupid smirk off your face, 'cuz the only one I'm into is—"

"Is what, Dean? Straight? Taken? Out fucking someone else right now? I mean, that _is_ why you called me tonight, isn't it?"

Dean's heart stopped. He'd been trying not to think about Roman going home with Shonda, but now the images were back with a vengeance. His head swam with nausea.

Randy continued relentlessly, "I'm sure Reigns is a good guy. I'm sure he's not stringing you along on purpose. But it doesn't change the fact that he's still stringing you along. It doesn't change the fact that your little fantasy of someday having him is just that... a fantasy. A pipe dream that's never gonna happen."

"Fuck you," Dean snarled.

"Fuck me? How about you stop fucking yourself, Dean. How about you stop chasing after what's unattainable and live in reality. Roman's a dream, but you can still find someone. Someone who wants you as much as you want them."

Dean snorted in disbelief. "So what are you saying, Orton? Are you saying you're that guy, is that it? You want to be with me?"

Randy's features softened from the short-lived anger as he stared at Dean. With pity and sadness on his behalf.

Dean didn't like it.

"I could be that guy," Randy said. "Hell, anyone could be that guy if you looked away from Reigns for ten seconds and gave someone else a chance."

"You know what, to hell with this entire conversation. I don't have to listen to this." Before Randy could say anything else, Dean threw open the door and left. He stormed back the way he came from, prepared to go to his room and get hammered. Dean barely made it ten feet before he found himself back at square one. Slumped against the wall.

Randy's words screamed loudest in his mind. Although it galled him to say so, Dean couldn't help feeling like there was some truth to what he'd said. All these years, he'd been chasing a fantasy, denying himself the happiness he deserved in the process. And now that substance had started to take shape. Someone actually _wanted_ him for a change. For once, someone was willing to chase after him. And that person was Randy Fucking Orton.

Dean tugged at his hair in frustration. Of all the people, it had to be him.

Yeah, he'd found out today that he was sexually attracted to Randy, but he just didn't like the guy. He seriously doubted Randy could keep him happy. After all, the physical stuff would only work for so long.

His cell phone binged, alerting him he had a new text message. It was from Laura. Dean had completely forgotten about her during Randy's diatribe. Dean read over her message. Twice.

 **Mom's in the hospital. Please come home, Dean.**

Dean sank to the floor and closed his eyes. Images of Roman filled his mind. Snapshots of the times they'd spent together over the years like a slideshow of his life. Dean exhaled a soft breath. Letting go would be the hardest thing he'd ever do.

* * *

Dean hadn't gotten hammered as planned.

Once he'd made it to his hotel room, he'd packed all his things and drove to Nashville for the SmackDown taping.

The three hour drive had been hell with all the time he had to think, which he hated. He'd tried blasting rock music, but all it did was provide another distraction.

He'd barely slept. Barely ate.

He felt like shit when he pulled into the arena that afternoon. Fans mobbed his car while the security guy waited to let him through. Dean put on a smile and signed a few autographs. It made him feel a little better, though it didn't last long.

Inside the arena, Dean got his script and went to change into his ring gear. Tonight, he had a 2-on-4 handicap match with Roman. They were going against the entire Wyatt brood.

Roman approached him while he was on his way to catering. The guy looked kinda miserable. His eyes were red-rimmed and shot. He'd probably gotten about as much sleep as Dean had. "Hey, man," Roman said in a low voice.

"What's up?"

"Not much. You left pretty abruptly last night."

"Yeah. My sister called with bad news. I needed some time alone." It was mostly true, though that wasn't initially why he left. "What about you? Long night?"

Roman shrugged.

Dean swallowed past the lump in his throat. "How was she?" Just saying it made him want to vomit.

"How was who?"

"Come on, you know who I'm talking about. Hottie in the red dress from the bar?"

"Oh. Her."

Dean arched a brow. Had things not gone well between them? A spark of hope filled his chest. "Yeah, her. You went back to her place, right? I mean, that's what Seth said."

Roman shook his head. "No. Nothing happened. I took her home, that's it."

Dean nearly stumbled into the crate behind him. He took a seat on top the thing before he fell over. Part of him was relieved Roman hadn't done anything with Shonda. And even better, Dean hadn't gone all the way with Randy, either. "What happened, man? Did she smell? Was she really a transvestite or something?"

Roman cracked a smile, but it wasn't a happy one. "Nothing like that."

"Then what?"

Roman glanced around, as if making sure they were out of earshot. No one was paying attention to them. He leaned in close. His face was serious, but completely devoid of emotions. Whatever he wanted to say to Dean, he didn't want to betray himself. "There's something I have to tell you."

Dean sucked in a deep breath as he stared into those steely eyes. "What is it, Ro?"

Roman went to rake a hand through his locks, then realized they were pulled back in a bun. "I lied to you, Dean."

* * *

 **A/N: What do you guys think Ro lied to him about?**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Sorry for the late update guys! I have so much work that I need to catch up on, it's been keeping me busy. So, _Won't Be Pushed Aside_ is coming to an end very soon. But don't worry, it's only the first part in a much longer piece of work. I decided to split this huge story of mine into parts; parts that focus on different stages of Dean's life since the beginning. I have a title and everything. _Won't Be Denied_ will be the sequel to WBPA, and I'm looking forward to sharing it with you guys. Thanks for sticking around for so long! Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 15**

"Lied about what, Ro?"

Roman closed his eyes, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there. Like what he was about to say would kill him. He opened his mouth to speak.

"There you are."

Dean and Roman turned to find Seth walking up to them, his dark brown eyes homed in on Dean. Both of them released a collective breath of tension.

Seth shoved at Dean's legs. "What the hell, Ambrose? That's how you do your brothers? Just get the hell outta dodge and leave us in Memphis without a word?"

Dean forced a smile, even though he was inwardly pissed at Seth's bad timing. "Sorry, Seth. Something came up."

"Uh-huh. Something you couldn't tell us about?"

Dean fought down the urge to roll his eyes. "You know how it is. I was in the moment. I had too much alcohol, so my emotions got the better of me."

"You owe me twenty bucks."

"Hey Roman." A tech guy approached them. "Carrano's looking for you."

"I'll be there in a sec." Roman glanced at Dean. "I'll talk to you later." He left.

"What was that about?" Seth asked.

Dean shook his head. "Don't worry about it."

Seth shrugged as if it didn't matter to him one way or the other. "What are you up to tomorrow? I was thinking of heading down to Vegas, myself. I need _one_ good night to let loose and have fun. Forget about this busted knee of mine. So, you wanna hang tomorrow? Take me around town?"

Dean shook his head. "Can't. I won't be in Vegas tomorrow."

"Where are you going?" Seth asked, annoyance evident in his voice.

"Cinci. My mom's in the hospital. Laura told me last night."

Seth's face softened at that. "Sorry, man. I didn't know."

"Nah, it's cool."

"Is it serious?" He placed a comforting hand on Dean's knee, his expression filled with concern. It was so out of place for Seth. Usually it was Roman doing all the worrying.

"I don't know." Knowing his mom, it was probably drug-related. She went on benders all the time and ended up at the hospital because of an overdose. Dean had told Laura to stop calling him about it. He was too busy to rush back home every time she couldn't handle her drug cocktails. But this time seemed different. His gut churned as he mentally read over Laura's text. Something was seriously wrong.

"Hey, Dean. You okay?"

Dean blinked as he stared into his friend's face. "What?"

"You spaced out. You want some water or something?"

Dean shook his head. "I was headed to catering. Fucking starving now."

"Me too. Let's go."

Dean hopped down and followed Seth, barely listening to him talk about his rehab. More than what was going on with his mom, or what Randy had said to him last night, he thought about Roman's words.

He'd lied to him.

Lied to him about what?

* * *

Dean didn't see Roman again until it was nearly time for their match. In the Gorilla Position, Dean was warming up, pacing, and getting in the right mindset. The last match was just finishing up. Theirs was the main event for the evening.

Dean's music came on. He exited the curtain to an eruption of cheers from the crowd.

"From Cincinnati, Ohio, weighing in at two hundred and twenty-five pounds, Dean Ambrose!"

The energy was electrifying. As he walked down the ramp to the squared circle, fans screamed his name, held up their signs for him, and even shouted that they loved him once or twice. Dean rolled into the ring and stared out at the masses.

He was home here.

Here, in this ring, with all these people, he could forget about the crap going on in his life right now. For the next twenty minutes, he could ride high on the wave of adrenaline and live in the moment. Even better, he could vent out his frustration by inflicting pain.

Roman came out next to a chorus of cheers and boos. The usual. He walked through the crowd like they used to do in the Shield's glory days.

Dean watched Roman go onto the turnbuckle and do his thing, and surprisingly enough, he didn't feel anything. There was no heart racing, no anger, no curiosity. Roman wasn't the man he'd been chasing after for years. No, in this ring, he was just another competitor. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Roman held out his fist, and Dean pounded it. They were gonna kick some Wyatt ass tonight.

The arena grew dark as the Wyatts' creepy-ass music came on. Nearly fourteen thousand cell phones went up, piercing through the darkness. The four swamp apes were nearly impossible to make out, all except Bray with that lamp of his.

In the dark, with the cameras pointed away from them, Roman grabbed Dean. "I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner. Things got busy."

Dean pried his arm out of Roman's grip. "Not here, Ro."

"Yeah, you're right."

The lights came on after Bray blew out the lamp. "Go," he commanded. Luke Harper, Erick Rowan, and Braun Strowman crawled into the ring, the big walls of flesh with their creepy masks staring them down like prey.

Dean tossed aside his leather jacket. The bell rang.

"I got this," Roman said, nodding for Dean to let him go first.

"All right." Dean waited on the apron, bouncing slightly to keep his body warmed up.

Luke Harper stepped into the ring. He and Roman circled one another before they locked up. Luke out powered Roman, pushing him into the turnbuckle, grinding his giant forearm into Roman's face.

"Get off him, Harper. One... two... three..." the ref called.

Luke held up his hands as if he was surrendering, but instead he chopped Roman across the throat. The fans booed.

Dean shook his head. The match had just begun, and already the tide was turning in the Wyatts' favor. Still, it wasn't too late for a comeback.

Several minutes later, Dean was impatient. Roman had been getting worked over by the group since it'd started. Every time he got in a little offense, he was quickly shut back down. Mostly by his own miscues.

The mistakes weren't big enough for the average wrestling fan to notice, but Dean did. And it was pissing him off. He didn't know where Roman's head was at, but it definitely wasn't in the ring.

Luke Harper did his call of the wild thing before he dragged Roman up to his feet.

"Destroy him, Harper!" Bray shouted from the apron, a cruel smile on his deranged face.

Dean paced the ropes, anxious to get in and decimate them.

Roman swayed on his feet. Luke went for his spinning clothesline, but Roman ducked. He lifted Luke onto his shoulders, prepared to deliver a Samoan drop, but Luke reversed and delivered a cracking super kick to Roman's mouth.

Dean covered his own when he noticed the blood seeping from the corners of Roman's lips. Another mistake. "Damn it, come on, Ro!"

Harper tagged in Strowman, who essentially came in and tossed Roman around like a ragdoll.

The fans chanted, "We want Ambrose!" Clap. Clap. Clap.

Dean banged his foot against the steel step, trying to rally some momentum behind his partner.

Strowman set Roman up for a choke slam, however Roman countered, jumping behind Braun's back. When the large swamp ape turned around, his face was met with a huge Superman Punch. Braun stumbled back, his bearings lost.

Dean stretched out his hand for a hot tag. "Come on, Ro!"

Roman pushed his body off the mat and made contact. The crowd went nuts as Dean hopped in the ring, the same time Braun tagged in Erick Rowan. Dean didn't care who it was. He threw his body into Erick's, taking the bigger man down and raining blows on his head. He charged into the enemy turnbuckle and knocked Bray off for good measure.

Erick stood up then. He tried to catch Dean off guard with a spinning heel kick, but Dean ducked beneath him. He caught Erick's arms and hooked him up for Dirty Deeds.

Luke big booted him out of nowhere. The blow stung the side of his face, but Dean didn't fall. He rebounded off the ropes and caught Luke with a clothesline. The big man rolled out of the ring.

Dean turned his attention back to Rowan, but Bray was there, grabbing him suddenly, and setting him up for Sister Abigail. Bray laughed before he pressed his lips to Dean's forehead. "Stay down forever, Ambrose."

Dean braced himself for the impact, but instead, he was ripped free from Bray's grasp. Dean looked in time to see Roman spearing the bigger man into the mat. Dean grinned. "That's what I'm talking about, baby!"

They were on fire, and the entire stadium was riding with them.

Erick struggled to his feet. Seizing an opportunity, Dean went to the top rope. He jumped off, intent on catching him with a diving elbow drop.

Rowan caught him in a giant bear hug.

Dean screamed in agony as the man tried to cave in his ribs with his massive arms. Dean ground his forearm against Erick's eyes, but the beast didn't relent. Dean bit his nose.

Erick yelped and dropped Dean like a sack of hot potatoes. As he inspected his nose for any damage, Dean knew it was his chance.

He hooked Erick up for Dirty Deeds and dropped him hard onto the mat. Dean covered his big body for the pinfall. Luke slid into the ring, attempting to break up the pin, but Roman speared him first.

The ref's hand hit the mat. "One... two... three!"

The crowd went wild. Dean jumped up in celebration, fists balled as if he were ready for more.

Roman nodded at him. He bumped fists with Dean before he went outside to mingle with the fans before they headed to the back.

Dean stood on the ropes, watching his best friend. Now that the adrenaline was dying down, his curiosity was back tenfold. It was time for some answers.

After Dean signed a few autographs and snapped a few selfies with the front row fans, he went to the back. Some of the other wrestlers congratulated him on a good match. He smiled out of politeness while trying to get out of dodge.

Dean found Roman headed for the locker room. "Ro."

Roman glanced over his shoulder at him. He didn't smile. "Dean."

Dean grabbed his arm, pulling him out of earshot. His heart pounded as he thought of what Roman would lie to him about. "All right, man. Spill."

Roman sighed. He looked like he'd rather avoid the subject altogether, but knew there was no way in hell Dean would let him. "All right." Roman hesitated.

Dean frowned. "Jesus, Ro. Just how serious is this?"

"It's not. It's just... Do you remember when I told you there was no one I liked?"

"Yeah." How could he forget? It'd crushed his soul to hear Roman say that.

"I lied."

Dean's heart stopped. "What?"

"There's someone I like. Someone I want more than anything."


	16. Epilogue

**A/N: So we're finally at the LAST chapter of _Won't Be Pushed Aside._ Thanks, guys, for sticking it out with me thus far. You all rock! Though this is the final chapter, this is NOT the end of Dean's story. There are still so many unanswered questions. So many undiscovered plots. So many amazing things waiting to change our boys' lives forever! Don't forget to be on the look out for _Won't Be Denied,_ which will be the sequel and second part to WBPA. Hope you all enjoy!**

 **Chapter 16**

Dean swallowed past the lump in his throat. "That's good, right?" For the life of him, he couldn't think of a reason why Roman would lie to him about something like that. Unless the person he wanted was either someone he knew or Dean, himself...

Dean shook his head. There was no way in hell that was possible.

Roman stared at him, his face filled with frustration and shame, even. Whoever it was, Roman wasn't too thrilled about it. He raked a hand through his hair and averted his gaze. "I can't, Dean. I can't be that guy."

"What do you mean by that?"

Roman shook his head.

Dean was confused. Just who the hell was it? "Ro, listen to me." He gripped Roman's shoulders, forcing his best friend to face him. "It's me, Ro. Your brother. You can tell me anything, man. You know I won't judge you."

Roman's face softened. His steel eyes narrowed as if he was debating whether he should tell Dean or not.

Dean pressed, "I can see that this is bothering you, so I just wanna help. We could grab a few beers and talk."

Roman covered Dean's hand with his own. His palm was warm and a little damp with sweat.

The touch sent a shiver down Dean's spine. He searched Roman's steely face, but Roman only stared back with a similar expression. Dean's stomach fluttered as a lightbulb went off in his head. Could it be? He cleared his throat. "Ro, is the person you're talking about—"

Roman pressed a finger to Dean's lips, silencing him. He shook his head. "I won't go there, Dean. Ever." He took a few steps backward, out of Dean's reach. His face suddenly twisted in anger. At himself, or at Dean, Dean didn't have a clue. And Roman didn't seem to be forthcoming. "I don't want this. I _never_ wanted this," Roman hissed.

Dean tried for a different approach. "How about we just get a couple beers and head back to the hotel. We could watch a movie or something."

"No."

"No?" Dean frowned. "You never turn me down for drinks and flicks."

"Dean, I—" Roman shut his mouth, forcing whatever he wanted to say back down his throat. His eyes looked so pitiful. Like he was begging for help at the same time he was pushing it away. After a moment, Roman sighed. "I don't mean to be weird. I just wanted you to know the truth, that's all. I hate lying to you, you know that."

Dean nodded, swallowing as the tension between them made the air hard to breathe. "It's cool."

Roman shook his head slowly. Sadly. "I just wanted you to know that I'm never gonna act on these feelings." He pounded his chest for added emphasis. "I'm not that guy. I can't just be... out there like that. That isn't who I am."

Dean's stomach sank at Roman's words. His throat tightened. For some reason, it felt like he was about to lose his best friend. He didn't have a clue what to say, instead standing there awkwardly staring at the guy.

Roman stepped away first. "I'm gonna go get that shower now. I'll see you later." He turned to leave.

"You sure about that?" Dean blurted.

Roman glanced at him over his shoulder. He gave him a smile filled with melancholy. Overall, the guy just looked heartbroken. "We're still brothers, right?"

"Always."

With that, Roman walked off, leaving Dean alone and rejected.

* * *

Dean sat in the Nashville International Airport, sunglasses on to hide his tired, sunken eyes, beanie on to cover his messy hair. Hair he'd tugged on and dragged his fingers through more times than he could count in the past several hours.

Honestly, he was looking forward to going back to Cincinnati. Even if only for a day, he needed to get away from this stuffy place. Away from Roman. For hours, his mind had churned trying to figure out what the hell the guy had been going on about. Who the hell did he like and why were they so damn forbidden? Each time he replayed the scene in his head, he kept coming back to one conclusion: himself.

Roman liked him, but he was too ashamed to admit that he not only wanted another dude, but his best friend. His brother.

And each time Dean came to that conclusion, he mentally bitch-slapped himself for the arrogance. Who was he to say that Roman wanted him? _Why_ would Roman want him, anyway? He drank too much, swore too much, and had too many vices. He oftentimes didn't think about what he said before he said it, and usually couldn't give a shit what anyone thought about him. It was why he didn't get along with most people. No one could handle him. Not really. Dean tried his hardest to show only his best side to Roman, but for as long as he could remember, he'd only shown the guy his worst.

It surprised Dean that Roman, and for that matter Seth, still wanted to hang around him.

Dean scrubbed at his stubbly chin. He usually wasn't this self-deprecating. Whenever thoughts like this creeped on him, he would grab a few cold ones and try not to think about it anymore.

"Hey."

Dean glanced up to find Randy hovering over him. Dean snickered. Just a few weeks ago, he would have been extremely annoyed at Randy's presence, but right now he didn't even care. In fact, the sight of him was almost welcome. Almost. "How'd you know I was here?"

"I have my sources. Here. Got something for you." Randy shoved a dark gold colored box in his face.

Dean frowned as he stared at it. The idea of Randy buying him gifts was ludicrous. He'd make a smartass remark about it if his mood wasn't so damned dark. "You shouldn't have."

"Well, I did. Figured you could really use it right about now."

Dean glared at the older male. "What gives you that impression, Orton?"

Randy arched a brow. "Besides the fact you look like shit?"

"Well, hell, if I knew I was gonna be _graced_ with your presence, I would've went into the restroom and gotten all pretty for you."

Randy sighed in exasperation. "Don't be a dick, Ambrose. I'm trying to be nice." He shook the box at him.

Dean finally took it, reluctantly. "What is this, anyway?" The engraved lettering read _liqueur chocolat._ He couldn't help grinning as he thought of the night in Randy's hotel room. "Laced candy. You trying to get me drunk again or something?"

Randy chuckled as he took a seat beside him. "That actually isn't a bad idea. You're charming when you're drunk."

Dean didn't comment on that. Several minutes passed by and neither man said anything. Dean didn't know what to say. He wasn't exactly in a cordial mood, not with the way things ended with Roman, and what he would have to deal with in Cincinnati. Instead, he glanced around the bustling airport, listening to all the chatter and waiting for the announcement that his plane was now boarding.

"Where you headed to?"

Dean peered at Randy over his sunglasses. "Is that why you came after me? To find out where I'd be and for how long?" He shook his head in disbelief. "You're waiting for me to be gone so you can finally put the moves on Roman, is that it?"

"That's not it at all. The real reason why I came is to apologize."

Dean stared at him, lips pursed in anticipation of what Randy thought he had to be sorry for. Outside of all the fighting in the last few weeks, Dean couldn't think of anything. The past was behind them. Squashed.

Randy raked a hand over his brush cut. "I'm sorry about what went down in Memphis. I was out of line, all right? I shouldn't have said the things I did. What you do and who you like is none of my business."

Dean gave him a wry smile. "I'm glad we understand each other, then."

Though Randy's gaze narrowed angrily, his lips turned up into a smile. Dean's stomach flipped at how sensual the duel emotions looked on him. "Smartass. But I can't help that that mouth of yours is one of the things I like about you, Dean."

"Is that a fact?"

"Flight 4755 is now boarding," the announcer's voice said over the loudspeaker. "Please come to Gate B4 to board flight 4755."

Dean stood up and stretched, groaning as his joints popped. "That's me."

Randy got up as well, his blue eyes locked on Dean. "When will you be back?"

"A day or two. Why?"

"I didn't only come here to verbally apologize to you."

Dean refrained from rolling his eyes. Of course the guy had ulterior motives. He was Randy Orton, for chrissakes.

Randy held up his hands, apparently fazed by whatever look was thrown his way. "Hold on a sec. Before you accuse me of having evil plans, I only wanted to make it up to you, I swear."

Dean glanced at the gate, now filling up with passengers. "No time." He turned to leave, but Randy grabbed his arm.

"When you come back, I want to take you out. Buy you dinner or something."

Dean's stoic face changed to utter confusion. Was Randy seriously asking him out? "Just to clarify, you mean like a date, right?"

Randy shrugged nonchalantly. He still hadn't let go of him. "If you wanna call it that, sure. But if not, then just look at it as me making it up to you for how I acted in Memphis. Besides, you and I... we could use a fresh start."

"I don't know, man. Now's not really a good time."

"I understand. I'll give you some time, but either way, I'm taking you out."

Dean snorted. "Pushy bastard."

Randy's gaze didn't waver from Dean's. In fact, he looked even more determined. There was no way he was taking no for an answer.

Dean pondered it for a second. It'd be nice to have good food and forget about everything, even if the company wasn't _totally_ desirable.

"Tick-tock, Dean. What's it gonna be? I'm not letting you go until you say yes." His grip on Dean's arm tightened, the pressure stinging even through his jacket.

Dean smirked. "All right. I'll go with you. But on one condition."

"Name it."

"You gotta tell me the complete and honest to God truth about the whole liking Roman thing. It's the only way I'll agree to this."

Randy didn't even hesitate. "Deal."

* * *

 **A/N: Fitting end? Beginning to something more to come? What do you guys think is gonna happen in the sequel? Thanks for reading, see you soon!**


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